


Déjà vu

by Equillibrium



Series: Star-crossed Lovers [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Assassin!Yuuri, Assassins, But things will be happy I swear it, Character Death, Dramatic Irony, Established Relationship, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Rating May Change, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Temporary Character Death, Tragedy, Undead, Warning: this fic contains a severe lack of ice skating. Viewer Discretion is advised, prince!Viktor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2018-12-11 03:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 80,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11705532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Equillibrium/pseuds/Equillibrium
Summary: Yuuri felt his pulse race when he heard the scraping of the executioner’s axe behind him. Now, of all times, he had to feel emotions. Regret. Fear, sadness…but most of all.Anger.“Viktor, please, never listen to them! Always remember that I loved you, I’ll keep loving you, and—"- - -To find your matching mark is to be with your soulmate in happiness until the end of your days, however long that may be. For Yuuri, that did not look to be very long.





	1. Absence Makes the Heart Heavier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **PART ONE: THE ASSASSIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 9/15/2017: I'm going through and editing the chapters--fixing up flawed writing and typos. I want to thank everyone so far for the unprecedented support this little fic has received. Thank you so much <3!

_“Does the accused have any last words?”_

_Yuuri kept his eyes stubbornly fixed on the ground. Could he muster the effort to defend himself one final time? Right now he just felt… hollow right now. As if this were happening to another person. Or he just didn’t care. He opened his mouth to say something, but he just… couldn’t._

_“Very well then.” The guards pushed him forward, leading him by the elbows and up the platform. Was he paralyzed in fear? No, he didn’t feel fearful. He had cried his heart out days ago, alongside his begging and pleading. There was nothing he could do to change his fate. Nothing he could say to prove his innocence. At the very least, he could find solace in knowing his loved ones were safe. Viktor was safe._

_Even if I could go back in time and save myself, Yuuri thought as his knees hit the platform, I wouldn’t—not if it meant you wouldn’t be alive._

_The guards pressed his cheek against the cutting stone. Tonight was cloudy—empty threats of rain looming overhead, but never a downpour. It would be too dramatic, even for Yuuri._

_“Yuuri!”_

_He heard his name called, and even the guards above him paused in surprise. That voice… but Viktor wouldn’t be here._

_“Let me go—let me see him—I don’t believe them! I believe you! I believe your mark! Please, call this off—this is a mistake. Yuuri!”_

_“Viktor?!” Yuuri tried to sit up, to catch a glimpse of outstretched arms pushing through a crowd, of silver hair fighting to reach him. He tried to catch a glimpse of Viktor's face, but he was forced back down roughly._

_“Viktor!” But another entourage of stepped forward and blocked his view. The guards behind him slammed his face harder into the stone, bruising his cheek._

_“Hold him back, I give you full permission to hold him down. The curse of that witch is stronger than I could’ve expected.” Over the ensuing uproar, Yuuri heard the king’s voice and felt his resolve tighten. Viktor shouldn’t have to see him like this—he didn’t deserve this kind of pain. Yuuri knew that with the king overseeing it, his execution would be carried out without interruption. At least it will be quick. At least Viktor will not have to see._

_“What are you waiting for? Executioner, be done with this nonsense.”_

_Yuuri felt his pulse race when he heard the scraping of the executioner’s axe behind him. Now, of all times, he had to feel emotions. Regret. Fear, sadness…but most of all._

_Anger._

_“Viktor, please, never listen to them! Always remember that I loved you, I’ll keep loving you, and—"_

_The rain began._

_\- - -_

Midnight is when he died. It is barely dawn the next morning that they prepare to cremate him. Burial in a mass grave is reserved for normal prisoners. Witches must be cremated, lest their bodies curse the grounds at which they died.

“I heard you’re supposed to remove the heart and burn that too,” Said one guard to another as they made their way to the storage caverns. “’Else the witch will back to life.”

“Bah!” His comrade scoffed. “An old children’s tale. Coming back from the dead’s a myth—it’s only impersonators who want the fame. We burn the bodies to dispel whatever curse has been cast.”

“Ah,” The first guard said disappointedly. “But what _if_ there’s some truth, ya know? Vengeful witches haunting the countryside… makes you shiver, right?”

“Not me.” The second guard fished out his keys and opened the grate leading deep underground. As they descended the narrow stairwell, the muggy summer air turn cold and dry. These caverns were always unnerving to even the sternest of individuals—whether there was a body in it or not.

“Alright, should be right over…” The second guard paused, looking around the cramped room. There was a sheet on the floor, crumpled next to a long plank of wood where the body should have been.

But it was not.

\- - -

Yuuri gasped as he sat up, clutching his neck in agony. He felt around, waiting for the blood to sprout, to see god condemning him to hell or flames to erupt around him. But he was fine. Not even in pain, save for one thing. He heaved out raspy breaths—his mouth felt dry and he was incredibly thirsty. He was relieved to see a mug of water on the nightstand next to him, and took a thankful sip. But his relief was short-lived.

He was somewhere unfamiliar, and wearing strange clothes—definitely not the ones from his dream. In his dream he’d been in ratty and torn slops, but now he wore a nice pressed button-down shirt, and stark black pants.

So many questions whirled about in his head, but he realized he had none of the answers. He couldn’t recall anything before that memory; he couldn’t even remember that man’s face.

He stood up from his bed, thinking he needed to get out of this room and clear his head. He tried the door, but to his dismay it was locked. He tried it again—tried shoving his weight against it, but the door was sturdily built. The room was old and rotted, but the locks on the door seemed to be brand new. As he let his hand fall from the handle, he noticed something peeking from beneath his sleeve. His arm… something was wrong with it.

Gingerly, he unbuttoned the cuffs and pulled back his sleeve, then cringed. There was an ugly scar encompassing his forearm, all down from his wrist to his elbow, wrapped around as if fire had grabbed him. He winced again and clutched his head as something came rushing to him—it was another memory.

Fire did grab him—a burning clamp wrapping around his arm and taking all his skin with it.

Stranger still, this memory did not make sense. In his memories, his arm was unrecognizable from a log in the fire. But the scar seemed like… like something that had been healing for a long time.

“I have to get out of here.” Yuuri said to himself, shaking his head as he pulled his sleeve down. He went to try the door once again, but as soon as his hand landed on the knob, it opened. He stepped back into the room as a person entered—an old man with a stooped back carrying a candle.

“Rest easy, your plight is over.” The old man set the candle down on the night table and beckoned Yuuri back over to the bed.

“Rest, you’ve much work to do.”

“Who are you? Do you know what happened to me? Where am I?”

“ _Rest_ , young one.” The man said once more, gesturing towards the bed. Reluctantly, Yuuri conceded and sat back down carefully.

“You don’t need to worry. You aren’t in danger anymore. I am somewhat of an ally.” The old man pulled up one of the covered chairs  at the far end of the room and sat down in it. “My name is Yakov. I’m your new master.”

“ _Master?_ ” Yuuri asked, incredulously.

“Yes. You were going to be executed, but we saved you and gave you life anew. Tell me, what do you remember?”

“I remember… there were people yelling. I was about to get my head cut off… Viktor. That was his name, he was calling after me.” Yuuri said, though it was straining to recall even these small bits and pieces.

“I see, I see. Of course the prince would be there.” Yakov remarked. “You were tried for tricking and bewitching the prince into your thrall. Bold move on your part. But nevertheless, of course he would stay to see your execution.”

“I tricked him…?” Yuuri could hardly remember his last moments—only Viktor calling his name, and the imminent presence of the axe above his head. Everything else was a blur.

“It was a nasty spell,” Yakov shook his head, though from his tone it was as if he were praising Yuuri. “You had the prince completely under your thumb! It's only a shame you had to ruin it, think of the havoc you could have caused."

The old man shook his head, as in reveling in what might have been. "Ah well, the deed is done. Now, at the very least, we can get our revenge.”

“Revenge?” Yuuri echoed.

“Yes. Revenge against the prince and the royal family. This new body of yours has a renewed vigor. With training, you can become a fearsome assassin.”

“Assassin?!” Yuuri stiffened now, shocked at what he was hearing. “I can't do something like that—I can scarcely remember who I was, let alone become an assassin.”

“This is not a matter of want or choice.” Yakov closed his eyes and sighed. “Plain and simple, you have no say in this matter. You are no longer the free and powerful witch you once were, you will do as we say or suffer the consequences. Run, if you so desire, but your face is remembered—and with those scars, you will be killed if we cannot find you first. Either waste your life now, or fulfill your new purpose.”

Yuuri reached up and felt his neck. When Yakov mentioned his scarring, he did not gesture to his arms—but to his neck. The skin he had thought was smooth… well there was a slight rubbery feel to a small portion on his neck. It went around in a ring—one long circular scar around his neck. Because they’d put his head back on.

“Again, I ask that you use this night to rest.” The man rose from his chair, lifting his candle once more and casting its light onto Yuuri. “We shall be very busy tomorrow. Tomorrow we begin your training.”

With that he left the room, and to Yuuri’s dismay, he locked the door behind him. After he heard the man’s footsteps retreat down the hall, Yuuri stood up once more to survey his surroundings.

The room was quaint and obviously rundown—the wooden walls and floors were rot-eaten and molded in some areas, and the windows had no panes. There was covered furniture in the room besides the bed Yuuri woke up in, and of course the night stand, which stood out in the room; it seemed brand new, whereas even the bed was uncomfortable and old. Yuuri took another look at the night stand—there was a scrap of paper underneath where his mug had been. It stuck to the table with a ring of water in the center, but Yuuri picked it up and read it.

“‘Yuuri Katsuki…” He felt a shudder course through him once he saw the words written after his name.

“'Twenty-three, beheaded. Time of death: fifteen after the midnight, twenty-fourth day of the twelfth month, year of the golden harvest…'”

Beheaded. It wasn’t a dream, then? He was really executed.

He tossed the paper to the side, sitting back down on the bed to gather his thoughts—he had to remember everything in his dream. No, it wasn’t a dream, but a memory. The details were foggy, and of it he could only remember bits of colors and the emotions they evoked—but what happened before it? He was being tried for something? A man—a man named Viktor—was calling out to him, trying to save him. Yuuri remembered feeling so distraught and angry and sad. But he could not place what those feelings were for. Of course he was distraught and sad because he was being executed. But was he angry at Viktor?

Why was he executed? A crime? A curse? Why him?

There were too many questions running through his head, and despite just waking up he still felt exhausted. Though he did not trust these circumstances, he had to get as much rest as he could. Even with restless thoughts milling about in his mind, as he laid down and closed his eyes his body seemed accustomed to idea of eternal slumber.

\- - -

_He heard it before he opened his eyes._

_Someone was humming behind him. They seemed happy and jovial, though at the moment Yuuri was quite terrified._

_“Please… just let me go.” He asked for what felt like the millionth time that day. The man continued to hum, and there was a hiss and crackle of fire behind him._

_“Be a dear and hold out your arm—Oh! I see you’re already ready.” The torturer came into sight, holding a pair of circular clamps that were bright red with heat. Yuuri’s arms were chained to the wall in front of him—he could only stare in misery at the fate that awaited him._

_“Now, hold still and it’ll all be over soon.” The torturer held the clamps up towards Yuuri’s arm—his left arm and the mark there—in concentration, as if trying to get an intricate detail just right. Before the hot metal had even touched his skin, he could feel the heat radiating off of it, and it was burning him._

_Without warning, the torturer closed the clamp on his arm. The pain was so sudden and searing that he couldn’t even scream—only open his mouth in pain as tears streamed down his face the smell of burning flesh and smoke seared his nostrils. Instinctively, he tried to pull his arm away, but the fire of the clamp was tight on him, and he only aggravated the pain further. This time, he did scream. He could feel fire all the way down to his core, palpable pain that was inescapable. When the clamp finally did come off, his arm was unrecognizable. His mark was but char among dead skin—gone. Forever._

_“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”_

\- - -

“Shall I fetch your afternoon tea, milord?” The servant offered, bowing deeply as Viktor turned his way.

“No, thank you. If you could leave, actually, that would be fine.” Viktor waved his hand absently, keeping his gaze fixed on nothing in the distance. The servant seemed affronted, but did not press further. Once more he gave a deep and gracious bow before backing out of the room. Finally alone, Viktor let out a deep sigh, turning his attention towards the window as he began to gently tug away at the silken modesty cloth on his arm. The nobility of the kingdom of Atleaus considered it only proper to cover their marks from unfamiliar people, only sharing it with those whom they were intimate with. He held up his right forearm, looking at the deep red half-heart in the center. From there, curving lines spread down his arm to his elbow, like the wings of a beautiful creature, only they formed a heart. Once, long ago, it was considered one’s life purpose to find their matching mark. That was your soulmate—the one you were destined to be with, the one to bring you happiness and joy even through the roughest of times. In this day and age, however, finding one’s soulmate was considered a fool’s errand. Very few actively searched, and fewer still found theirs. If you married, you married for wealth or stability. Love and intimacy was extraneous.

_That’s what my father wants_ , Viktor thought bitterly as he traced the lines running down his arm.  His father always talked of establishing friendly ties with the neighboring country, and he always insisted that the only way to do so was with marriage. Viktor was one of the hopeful few that believed in one day finding his matching mark. His father had condemned his hopeful outlook, and all but ignored it until fate deigned to step in.

He hardly noticed as the door to his chambers opened once more, but he knew it was not the servant. Eyes lidded in fond but oh so bitter thoughts, he thought of the person who shared his mark. The person who everyone told him had tricked him for his wealth and royalty.

“He was a witch.” Viktor heard his father say, walking up behind him slowly. “And he wished to see you give away all our riches with fanciful ideals of love and happiness.”

“Mm.” Viktor hummed, ignoring him.

“It is best you take your mind off the trivialities of marks and soulmates.” His father pressed further, walking up beside him and staring out the window with him. “Dwelling on this is not healthy. Do you still feel the pull of the witch’s curse?”

“Was it a curse?” He mused under his breath.

“Nonsense! Of course! You saw the proof for yourself. The witchcraft, the false mark made with ink and magic. It was but a ploy to steal your heart and capture your soul. That damned witch would have turned you into an eternal puppet, and then turned this entire kingdom on her head. Is that what you would rather have?”

“I heard someone stole his body from the caverns.” Viktor said abruptly.

“You… _who told you that?_ ” The king ruffled, taking his mind for a second off the topic at hand.

“Nothing ever stays secret for long in these walls.” Viktor reminded his father.

“‘The courtroom gossip doth flicker.’” His father quoted bitterly. “Nevertheless, that is irrelevant. Nothing but bandits and grave robbers who want to see what treasures there are to pilfer. Worse yet, a witch seeing what residual magic they can claim from his corpse.”

“Are you going to hunt them down?” He asked his father, letting his hand fall to toy at the silk cloth on the window sill.

“…An investigation will be pending forthwith. But right now there are more important matters to attend to. That of a missing corpse does not concern us so much as diplomatic… Do not walk away while I am talking to you, young man!”

Viktor was walking over to an ornate table. On top of it was a beautiful ceramic vase, shipped in from overseas colonies and emblazoned with filigrees of gold and silver. Around the top edge, jewels were pressed into it of various colors, sending light scattering across the sides when the sun hit it just right.

He dropped it onto the marble floor.

“Oh, how clumsy of me!” Viktor lamented, putting a hand to his mouth in mock surprise as his father gasped and stiffened. He turned bright red, like a berry, and Viktor was worried he might just burst.

“I am calling for the priest, tomorrow.” His father said through gritted teeth. “ _Obviously_ the witch’s curse lingers with you. _Obviously_ your judgement skills still greatly are impaired. For now, why don’t you retreat to your chambers? Perhaps some time alone to think will do you good.”

“I was doing that before.” Viktor said. His father simply pointed at the far door, before leaving the room himself. Once he shut the door, Viktor clenched his fists and kicked the table that held the vase over. Anger and emotions suddenly boiling over, he made his way to his room in a blind fury. He pushed open his door and sent it banging into the wall with a satisfying noise. He then proceeded to take everything that seemed of value and throw it onto the floor—he emptied drawers of expensive clothing and tore their fabrics in half, sent posh paintings onto the floor, not hesitating to rip the canvases in two or three. Soft but expensive gold jewelry was crushed beneath his feet but still, it was not enough. The emptiness inside of him tore at his heart, practically burning a hole into his chest.

He ripped off his coat, suddenly feeling too confined, and cast it on the floor after tearing it in two with a satisfying rip. By the time most of his rage subsided, his room was an absolute disaster. And still, he felt miserable.

He sunk to the floor next to his bed, realizing that his face was wet with tears from crying that started long ago. He tried so hard to believe that he’d been tricked into falling in love. He wanted to believe that he was under a vicious curse. It would make Yuuri’s death hurt so much less painful.

But try as he may, he could not do it. He could not believe that his lover’s mark was false, nor that this love was just a curse. His feelings had been genuine, and so had Yuuri’s—he knew it. It had to be. Why did this come to happen? No, deep down, though he did not wish to confront it—he knew his father had something to do with all of this. The accusations of witchcraft did not come from the blue, yet still Viktor had let worry plague his mind. But what did that matter anymore? The deed was done, and Viktor had dragged his feet when Yuuri needed him most. There, in his most desparate moments, was when Viktor’s mind had deigned to act. Not when he was being accused. Not when he was being tortured below, and Viktor was still brewing over what was right or wrong. But when his head was on the executioner’s block.

He should have held his resolve; he should have fought harder to be with Yuuri. Yet when doubt covered him like a plague, he faltered. And Yuuri died—right before his eyes, right when he realized this was all a huge mistake. But it had been too late. He tried his hardest to reach him, but he had been _far_ too late.

He could blame his father and his schemes. It would be so easy to take his anger out on his father—easier than accepting the lie of a curse. But in the end the blame laid heavy on his shoulders like a robe. And the more he thought about it, the more it dragged him down.


	2. In Loving Memory

Most of his memories were foggy. He could not remember much before his execution—mostly that he’d lived a simple and boring life. It didn’t take a genius to figure that his life grew more exciting when he met Viktor. But even with trace knowledge of his own background, as he held the sword in his hands he knew immediately that he had never even seen this much steel before.

“Your stance is incorrect. Keep your weight even, and face forward at all times. Hold your sword _firmly_.” He felt a hard jab to his legs, widening them more. “…Better. But you need to be looser—less tense with the blade.”

“So I have to be loose but firm?” Yuuri asked dryly. He got a frown from Lilia, and he braced himself once more to be hit again.

“When you hold a sword,” She said, a sneer growing. “There is no room for reservations. To pause is to die. Flow with each movement, but make each movement with confidence. Do you understand?”

“…Yes.” He did not understand.

“Then why are you still so tense?” She slapped his leg once more with the stick in her hand. For a few more minutes, she continued on like this, micromanaging his stance and telling how high or low his sword to be, where he should place his fingers and whatnot.

“Hm.” She stepped back, finally, examining him with a hand to her chin. “Good. We’re reading to begin.”

Yuuri stood stock still in fear of messing up as she crossed the yard to retrieve her sword. When she came back into view, she held it up in practiced grace. She began to show him the basics to attacking and parrying, and to carrying his weight with the sword.

“Now that you understand the basics,” Lilia said after a while of running through a few simple motions. “We spar.”

Yuuri nodded, trying to keep his nervousness at bay as she straightened her back. Her expression looked very serious.

She lunged forward with her sword without warning. Yuuri barely had enough time to lift his sword and attempt to block her attack. Their swords met with a loud cry of metal, and the vibration made his hands shake to the core. He looked at her in surprise at the sudden attack, worried she might have skewered him, but she drew back and came in with an overhead slash.

“What are you doing?!” He asked as he blocked her sword once more, again shocked at the strength and the reverb it sent out.

“You must tap into the strength that lies dormant inside you.” Using her sword as leverage, she ducked underneath his block and went in to strike. Yuuri didn’t think she would harm him, but her movements left his side wide open. She slashed at his exposed side, cutting deep.

Yuuri fell to the ground, his sword clattering from his hand as he clutched his side in agony.

“You must also learn to harness your healing abilities. Gain control over inhuman reflexes. Learn to _fight_. It's your gift, from us to you, along with a new life. Revel in what it means to be undead.” Lilia lifted her sword and inspected the blood there. “We have no use for a servant that cannot do even the most basic of things. Only through pain, trial, and error will you learn. Pick up your sword and fight,”

She held her sword forward, pointed at his neck.

“Or I will kill you.”

Yuuri huffed, clutching his shirt where blood soaked through, marking the stark white with red. All he could do was glare utter malice her way as he reached for his sword, holding back pain. He knew she was serious.

While forcing himself to his feet, sword as a brace, he tried to concentrate on the wound on his side. Yes, he did seem to have remarkable healing capabilities. The scar on his arm, in only a day’s time, was fading into nothing, becoming seamless skin. Skin without a single mark on it. But it didn’t occur to him that he could control it.

“Focus on the pain, then banish it away. Imagine your flesh knitting together until it is healed.”

“Can’t you see I’m trying?” Yuuri snapped as he held his sword up, wavering. He was getting quite dizzy, blood loss he supposed, but he had to concentrate. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on dispelling the pain and healing his wound.

“I will not wait forever.” Lilia said impatiently. When Yuuri opened his eyes, he saw her stepping forward, preparing to slash at him once more. He tried his best to deflect her blow with his sword and step out of the way, but the impact nearly sent the weapon flying from his hand again.

“Please… just—just give me a chance!” He asked pleadingly. It took so much effort to dodge her, and the unrelentingly look in her eyes made him fearful. Concentrating on healing seemed so impossible. “I can’t heal myself with you yelling and trying to kill me!”

“You think that in battle your enemy will wait for you?” She asked, incredulous. “Do you think they will stop when you hold up your hand, begging ‘one second, I need to catch my breath’? In the heat of battle you must learn to adapt. Assess your enemies’ strengths and weaknesses, center your mind, and focus on healing as you gather your wits. Learn to channel your inner strength. One day, you will never have to worry of injuries. But that day is not today!”

She stepped to the side, bringing her sword up in an arc and dashing his sword from his hands. He turned and watched as it flew from his hands and landed in the distance, blade down in the grass.

“ _Never_ take your eyes off your enemy.”

Suddenly Yuuri was looking at the sky—he was thrown onto the ground from the force of her sword cutting into his chest. It was much deeper than the wound on his hip, he could feel it already, but all worries of the growing pain disappeared when she stepped forward, sword pointed at his face. He closed his eyes in fear once he saw her raise the sword, expecting a blade through his forehead. He heard the grass next to his head crunch, and slowly he opened his eyes and saw his pitiful expression reflected in steel.

“Consider this your first lesson.” Lilia said, disappointment strong in her voice. “You have an hour to heal your wounds. After that, we continue our sparring session.”

Abruptly, she turned and walked away, leaving him on the ground. Yuuri looked back up at the cloudy sky unblinkingly.

“I hate this.” He whispered to himself. “I hate this so much.”

He blinked when he felt something plop against his face. A raindrop. Then another. Soon, an entire downpour.

He didn’t bother getting up—he was in too much pain, and as Lilia said, he needed to heal himself. If he couldn’t figure out how, he would likely bleed to death before she even got back. So he closed his eyes and concentrated. She said to focus on his pain. Oh yes, it was definitely there. Now that someone wasn’t holding a blade right under his nose, it was clear and distinct. If he moved in the slightest, it felt as if someone was cutting him all over again, so he stayed still. Banish the pain, she said. Focus on knitting his flesh together. He imagined someone sewing him together like a torn doll. Fixing and mending the tears in cloth from years of use. He imagined himself anew.

Yuuri gasped at the cold feeling that washed over him, over his wounds, as his skin began to mend itself. Just as quickly as it had taken to cut the flesh, he could actually feel the wounds on his chest and side closing. And a prick of cold on his forearm, where his scar was, despite the fact that he thought it was healed.

He sat up, looking at the bloody tear on the front of his shirt. Sure enough, the skin there was smooth, as if nothing had touched it. He reached up to his neck, but, to his dismay… the scar was still present. It did not seem to be disappearing any time soon, alongside the soreness he occasionally felt in his throat.

He looked at his hands, about to pull up his sleeve and see what was wrong with his arm when he heard a noise coming from the forest brush surrounding the back of the house. There was a soft mewling coming from a bush at the far end. A tiny kitten, hiding from the rain beneath the leaves. Yuuri cocked his head to the side and stared at the cat. It meowed once more, pressing itself further into the bush.

“You too, hm?” He asked wistfully, resting his arms on his knees. He pushed up the sleeve to his shirt and gasped.

Where there was once smooth flesh, a strange pattern of spiraling lines, like wings, appeared on his forearm. With a tiny half-heart in the center.

\- - -

“More wine, your highness?” The courtesan, Charlain, offered, bending over delicately so as to display her bosom while she held the bottle up.

“No.” Viktor set down the glass and propped his feet up on the table, letting his hand linger down to stroke Makkachin’s head. Charlain sat back down next to his comrades, who sent him disapproving glares.

“You used to be the life of the party.” Christophe let his head fall back against the frame of the settee, sighing. “Unstoppable, charming, charismatic! Now we are surrounded by gorgeous men and women, and you _decline_ the wine?”

“What’s there to say?” Viktor shrugged dismissively.

“None would deny you any of your whims, prince Viktor.” Another courtesan offered hopefully, to which he frowned.

“I told you,” Jean-Jacques, still in good spirits, sat forward and shook his head. “It’s not sex and thrills to bring him from this slump.”

“Ah, but the excitement of a hunting trip would?” Christophe asked sarcastically.

“What else to invigorate the mind. He needs to bring his mind away from…” He paused. There was no worry of the courtesans or gossip spreading; by now the entire kingdom knew of the witch that tried to trick Prince Viktor. No, it was that they were talking as if he were not present, or like a child unaware of the adult’s conversation. They looked down awkwardly, and Viktor felt himself grow impatient.

“Bring my mind away from Yuuri?” He asked. The group of them, courtesans included, tensed at his audacity.

“ _Don’t say the witch’s name!_ ” Jean-Jacques hissed in a whisper, as if Yuuri would suddenly appear behind them all. 

“I’d rather you two didn’t dance around the subject like it’s a poisonous snake.” Viktor said, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair.

“We know, we know.” Christophe explained apologetically. “We just don’t want to be insensitive, your highness.”

 “I know.” Viktor sighed, pushing aside his annoyance. “You’re only trying to help. But lately everyone’s ‘help’ has just felt… insensitive. Fake. Even my father is calling in a priest because he thinks Yuuri’s… curse… is still present.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Jean-Jacques asked. Christophe slapped his friend on the leg as Viktor’s frown deepened.

“ _What Jacques means_ ,” Christophe clears his throat. “Is that it might be best if a priest banishes these bad thoughts. You might feel just a little better.”

Viktor stopped tapping his fingers, clenching the armrest instead.

“My, how late it’s gotten…” He sent a glance over to the window nearby, admiring the stars. “Perhaps the two of you should be heading home. It wouldn’t do well to oversleep tomorrow.”

Christophe and Jean-Jacques both sent him worrying looks, but who were they to try and deny the prince when he made a demand.

“You needn’t worry about the courtesans, I’ll send in the payment.” Christophe offered, sending a flirtatious wink towards one of them.

“Consider that hunting trip?” Jean-Jacques asked as he stood, leading the courtesans with him.

“Consider it considered.” Viktor said as he crossed one leg over the other. His friend nodded, still worried, as the three left the guest’s lounge. Once they were gone, Makkachin hopped up onto the settee and settled himself, though his father hated it when he did that. Viktor was always quick to spoil Makkachin, though—good mood or not.

A few moments passed and Viktor heard clanging footsteps approach from the hall. The entrance was an open arch, so Viktor could see already it was one of his personal retinue. He was short, and seemed petite even with a full suit of armor. With his helm removed, it was reaffirmed that he was still but a boy, even with the lengthy mop of blonde hair. Still, Viktor did not underestimate any of his personal guards—they were all demons with the spear. The guard bowed deeply once Viktor noticed him, then stepped into the room and dropped to one knee.

“His highness your father wishes to speak with you at once. The priest has arrived.” The young guard said. Viktor leaned forward and took one foot off the table.

“I thought that wasn’t until tomorrow.” He remarked angrily as he stood. The guard was taciturn, leading him silently into the hall where Viktor’s remaining retinue stood. Three other soldiers—more than what he considered normal. All things considered, his father probably thought it pertinent that security be heightened. Viktor saw this as nothing more than his father displaying his acting skills.

Walking down the silent and dimly lit halls, Viktor couldn’t help but to wince at the bare spot on the far wall of the castle foyer. There stood a portrait of his mother and father in their prime youth, alongside the long Nikiforov bloodline. But next to them was nothing. Viktor remembered the argument over that painting, after his father had found the sketches Viktor kept hidden in his room. He threw the painting into the fireplace, saying it was nothing but a reminder of “that witch.” Viktor looked away, moving on.

The conjoined monastery held a room of prayer and worship to the entire Nikiforov family line, all of Viktor’s ancestors. It was a place where private ceremonies and blessings happened, and a priest in holy garb waited inside, alongside his father and a maidservant. Behind him, Viktor’s guards bowed before taking their leave, leaving the four of them alone.

“Yes… This curse still lingers strongly, like a fever.” The priest tutted lightly, beckoning Viktor forward. “And like any sickness it will take time to purge. Come now, young lord, before the basin.”

It took Viktor all his effort not to roll his eyes as he complied and kneeled before basin of water. The ritual was similar to when he received blessings on his birthdays, so he expected the cold water splashing over his head. The only difference was the hymns the priest chanted, and the repeated process. Cold water, more chanting. Cold water, chanting. It went on for a few minutes until finally the priest lifted Viktor’s head. He took some foul smelling herb from a tiny dish in his hand and made some sort of marking on Viktor’s forehead.

“Keep an eye on him,” The priest explained as the maidservant wrapped a cloth around Viktor’s shoulders, protecting his clothing from the water as he dried him off. “As the curse leaves him, he may become ill.”

“Will he be well in time for the ball?” Viktor’s father asked, seemingly more worried about social extravaganzas than his own son. The priest nodded, waving his hand dismissively.

“He shall be in perfect health; I assure you of this, your highness.”

“Good,” His father smiled, that same smile that meant he was planning something. “Very good. Come, Viktor. You must be exhausted, let’s get you ready for bed.”

Viktor eyed his father suspiciously but nodded as the maidservant helped him to his feet and took the towel away, opening the door for the three as Viktor’s guards surrounded him.

The night was still young, in his opinion, yet he was tired nonetheless. Sleep would do him well, he thought as he once again passed the hanging portraits.

\- - -

_Viktor, charismatic though he liked to be, couldn’t help the certain shyness at bearing himself to another person. Though he was often dressed and assisted with his elaborate clothing by maids and the like, it was a rushed process with no intent behind it. It did not hold the same intimacy as undressing in front of one’s lover. Being shirtless like this made him feel… self-conscious. But unwrapping the modesty cloth around his mark, especially with another person watching—it had him aflame with worry. He felt like a nervous wreck, which was why he opted to lie down, hiding his chest as he propped his face up with his arm. Yuuri looked down on him, sitting on his bed with alongside him with a face drunken on love._

_“Beautiful…” Yuuri covered his mouth as soon as he said the word, his face bright red. Viktor couldn’t help but to smile. It was relieving that he wasn’t the only one nervous._

_“Let me see,” Viktor asked as he reached up, taking Yuuri’s hand from his mouth and cupping it in his own. “Your…”_

_He trailed off nervously, and in the dim candlelight he saw Yuuri nod, and his tension dissolved just a bit more. Gingerly, he unbuttoned the sleeve of his shirt, folding back the cloth to reveal his own, matching mark. Viktor sighed; doubt plagued him continuously—such a miracle surely couldn’t be happening to him—seeing Yuuri’s mark for a second time filled him with such profound… ah, he couldn’t find the word for it. Joy? Gratitude? Elation?_

_Love?_

_“Don’t move,” Yuuri took his hands from Viktor’s, fumbling across the latter’s bed for his sketchpad and charcoal. “Stay just like that.”_

_Viktor laughed, earning a slight frown Yuuri._

_“It’s funny how you shift like that. You turn from this shy cute man, to this focused painter with beautiful skill… how do you do it.”_

_“I… can’t help it.” Yuuri held his sketchpad up, hiding his face from Viktor’s view as he sketched on. “Whenever I see such a beautiful opportunity, I get scared that I might miss it."_

_Now it was Viktor’s turn to blush._

_“And here I thought I was the charmer.” He said, reaching over to tap Yuuri’s leg, wanting attention. “Just who is seducing who here?”_

_“Be still, you’re acting like a child!” Yuuri laughed as he added just a few more finishing touches. “Here, look.”_

_Even in such lighting, Viktor could see the beginnings of something beautiful. It was himself, looking on wistfully with the light and shadows dancing across his face and bare shoulders tenderly. He was leaning against his arm, exposing his mark in an almost tempting way._

_“This would make a beautiful painting.” Viktor said, and Yuuri nodded his agreeance._

_“Perhaps tomorrow night, I could come back and…” He offered, trailing off and looking to Viktor for his permission. Viktor pushed himself up into a sitting position, smiling mischievously as he took Yuuri’s sketchbook and set it on the far end of the bed._

_“Yes, tomorrow.” He took off Yuuri’s glasses, brushing his bangs back as his lover looked on with a dazed expression. “But tonight I have other plans.”_

_Gingerly, Viktor cupped Yuuri’s face and brought him in for a gentle but passionate kiss. It took his breath away, feeling the soft compliance of Yuuri’s lips made him eager for a deeper embrace._

_Viktor was draped over Yuuri, arms on either side of his head whilst he memorized his body. He wondered idly if this was the perfection Yuuri saw in his paintings; hair tousled and blouse slightly undone, with a background of satin sheets. Lips slightly red from rough kissing and a dreamy and lustful haze covering his cheeks. He was pure art, and Viktor was afraid for a moment that his unskilled hands would ruin him._

_Yuuri reached up, brushing a hand down Viktor’s cheek, down his neck and stopping at his chest, resting his hand over his heart._

_“You look scared.” He said, and he hit the nail so firmly that Viktor blinked in surprise. He laughed beside himself, dropping his head and taking Yuuri’s hand into his own, placing a soft kiss on the back of it._

_“I am.”_

_“You don’t have to be.”_

_“Part of me still can’t believe this is happening.” Viktor explained. “I’m waiting to wake up from another wistful dream, a dream of something I can never have.”_

_“But this isn’t a dream. This is happening—”_

_“Part of me is also scared that I’ll ruin this somehow.” Viktor cut Yuuri off, a pang of fear going through his chest. “To say or do something to make you hate me… or to falter and somehow hurt you.”_

_“Viktor, don’t even have those thoughts.” Yuuri took his hand from Viktor’s, lifting his lover’s face so that he could see those tear-filled eyes. “There nothing you could ever say to make me stop loving you. There’s nothing you can ever do to hurt me.”_

_“But you don’t know that,” Viktor looked down, unable to meet those deep brown eyes that seemed so sure. “God, you don’t know that.”_

_“I do.” Yuuri huffed, pinching Viktor’s cheeks. “Why dwell on what could go wrong? Why not think of everything that’s gone right?”_

_Viktor smirked, pulling Yuuri’s fingers away._

_“I’m supposed to be the one who’s charming and witty, secure and self-confident…but you’re the one giving me the support.” Viktor laughed once again at the irony of it all. Is this what a soulmate is supposed to do? Break down your emotional barriers until you’re a wreck filled with worry and longing? If so, well then… he wouldn’t trade it for the world._

_“That’s what I’m here for.” Yuuri brought Viktor in close, and once again his breath escaped at the feel of Yuuri’s lips against his own, and the perfect way he smelled and tasted. “And I’ll always be here for you. I promise.”_

_Shameful thing, it was. Yuuri was not good at keeping his promises._


	3. Ties and Treachery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but here it is. I've created an art blog, and I'll be posting a few pictures I've drawn for this fic there. You can find my tumblr @cinnoni

During his few days living under Yakov and Lilia’s ‘care,’ Yuuri learned quite a few things about himself. For starters, he did not need to eat. Sleep was a luxury as well—if he forced himself he could go hours past what a normal human could endure. He only needed to rest after healing himself, he found out. Staying still was enough to regain energy for him. And one more thing—he was a very quick learner.

Where before Lilia’s strikes would shake him to his core, he could now see himself improving. Parrying and dodging now came to him like second nature, and where Lilia quickly lost her stamina, Yuuri found a flow. He also sustained less injuries—Lilia never held back, never pulled her blows, so Yuuri had to figure out how to take less of them. He began learning to heal and fight. To breathe in cool air and blow out all of his fatigue was as simple as… well, breathing.

“Shoulders up, you’re growing too relaxed.” Lilia chided as she caught him off guard, nearly taking a good slice out of his side. He was just barely able to meet her sword with his, letting it slide down as he stepped back and out of her sword’s path.

“You’re too defensive.” Yuuri heard Yakov comment from the house behind him. He kept his eyes trained on Lilia—on more than one occasion did he let his guard slip and chance a glance behind him. Lilia made sure he never did that again.

“I believe I am the teacher here.” Lilia said with a scoff, but held her sword up aggressively. “Nevertheless, he is right. You block and parry with ease, but have I not told you plenty of times to follow through? I’ll make a killer of you yet, don't worry.”

She stepped forward, slightly to her left, and brought her sword up in an arc, aimed at the center of his body. Yuuri always struggled with these attacks—instincts told him to block it with his sword, but that simply gave Lilia room to stab or further slice from beneath. Instead, he stepped to the wider slant of her strike, to his own left, and lifted up his sword to guide her momentum away. He stepped forward and found a sudden realization.

Her back was completely exposed.

Yuuri stepped back, sword up and waited for her to whip around, completely on guard and sword raised in anticipation. When she saw him several feet off, she scowled.

“You had the perfect opportunity to strike. Why do you hesitate?” She asked out of frustration.

“I…” It’s not as if he knew the answer either. He had no real moral reason to hold back against her. She and even Yakov had urged him to strike back. Yet still… the idea of punishment begged hesitation. That, and the fear of striking another… it made him nauseous. And he knew, if he had attacked then and there, he’d have risked gravely wounding Lilia.

“Pathetic.” Lilia scoffed in Yuuri’s direction, shaking her head. “We take an hour break. Sit outside and practice your stances. When I come out here, you’d best be ready to strike back. You use that sword like a fanciful stick. We need to break that habit.”

Yuuri took a deep breath, breathing in a cold sensation that filled his body, then let it out. He looked down as Lilia walked briskly past him and only let down his guard when he heard her and Yakov enter the house.

He sat down on the dew-soaked grass and looked up at the blue of the morning sky. As if on cue, the bushes at the forest clear rustled, and out came a tiny kitten. He cooed gently and held out his hand. The poor thing was still shy, but as usual it bounded over to his side once familiarity took precedence.

“There… here you go.” Yuuri whispered as he reached deep within his pockets and took out a piece of crushed cheese from a cloth. It was what little he could pilfer without being caught. Yuuri figured the kitten was separated from its mother and it broke his heart to think the poor thing might not be able to find food… It was a miracle no predators had found it. The kitten sniffed briefly before nibbling at the cheese. Yuuri set the cloth down and watched it eat, feeling just a little bit of happiness. It was silly, he knew, but very few things brought him joy these days. Seeing a starving kitten eating food was nearly bringing him to tears, however.

Yuuri spent some time petting and playing with the kitten, relaxed on the grass as the sun rose lazily, changing the deep blue of the sky to a myriad of colors. He was lying on his back, staring at the clouds passing overhead with the kitten sleeping at his side when he heard the door open.

He sat up with alarming speed, and like a bolt of fur the cat shot off into the distance. Yuuri looked behind with fear and saw Lilia reaching for her sword, eyeing him with a glare.

“Why are you sitting on the ground daydreaming?” She asked. “I told you to practice. Pick up your sword.”

She jerked her chin down at the item in question and Yuuri rushed to his feet, thankful to whatever gods there were that she didn’t appear to have seen the cat.

\- - -

It was very rare that Viktor’s father had him attend balls not held by the royal family, even if it was the influential families that hosted them. Hell, it was a miracle if the old man let him attend close familial events or city banquets. King Nikiforov had a rightful fear of assassins, and was ever the vigilant monarch. So he knew his father had planned something for this one.

The Carteneau family, by all means, was placed very high among the aristocracy, but to Viktor it was but another noble name he was going to forget soon. They didn’t matter to him, but what made them important to his father, he wondered.

The carriage he was in finally rolled to a bumpy stop, and the dim countryside had given light to the Carteneau mansion, specifically the designated ballroom a bit past the manor. The light, Viktor noted with a scoff, was from mag stones—magic could be condensed harshly until it is crystallized, but when lit it gave off brilliant and long-lasting light. It was so hypocritically—ban the use of magic unless it is in some way shape or form convenient. Then, by all means, use it freely.

A set of moveable stairs were placed in front of his carriage door as it opened and Viktor stepped down quietly after his father. The guards before the entrance bowed deeply before stepping aside and allowing him and his father into the entranceway. The announcer went into the main ballroom, and Viktor let out a long sigh.

“Ladies and gentleman,” The announcer’s voice carried across the light music and chatter that filed the room. “Please rise for the royal King and Prince Nikiforov.”

The room filled with light applause as the ensemble began to play the country’s anthem. Viktor and his father were led to their guest of honor seating underneath the chandelier at the far end of the room and took their seats. The room had to settle down for a few moments before any nobility would come milling over to brownnose, but trust and believe, like moths to a flame they arrived as soon as the ensemble returned to the ballroom waltz.

“Your Highness, Prince Nikiforov,” The first person approached their table, bowing respectfully before his father bade them to sit. Viktor had trouble recalling who this was, but it was definitely not the host, Carteneau. He was a viscount and likely wishing to raise his standing with his father. Viktor couldn’t care less.

“You’re looking well, Viscount Denaud.” Viktor’s father commented as he lifted his glass towards the servant for wine.

“I must say the same for the both of you.” The Viscount offered Viktor a forced smile, and it took all his willpower to muster up his jovial personality. It was becoming harder and harder as days went on.

Several more people came up to Viktor and his father, each with more praise than the last. It was only when the dinner chime rang across the hall that he got a moment to his own thoughts. The food was ready to be served. The guests that were dancing about on the ballroom floor or in their social gossip cliques made their way to tables, where servants attended to each group. The menu for this particular ball seemed lavish, ranging from ballotines of duck to wines and cheeses from across the world.

When the servants finally left the ballroom, there was a sudden hush across the room, and it took Viktor barely a moment to realize why. The hosts had finally deigned to show themselves.

It had been so long that he almost forgot Atelean etiquette, Viktor realized. The host never came down until right before the meal was served.

At the very top of the staircase that led down into the ballroom proper, where Viktor and the rest of the guests waited, an elderly gentleman and a very young woman stood. Slowly, in-time to the music which had slowed to a respectful hum, they descended gracefully. There they stood, the head Carteneau and the unknown woman, at the end of the stairs, to mag lanterns burning on either side of the railings to highlight them.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. And of course, good evening to the esteemed King and Young Prince Nikiforov, for I am humbled to be able to honor such important guests. Yes, on this evening, which may seem like any other…”

As the old man Carteneau descended into his speech, Viktor’s attention flitted away to anything but. If he learned nothing else, it was that nobility tended to drag out with their speeches.

“…to have led this nation to greatness and beyond. I am both honored and humbled to announce to you, ladies and gentlemen of the court, that my daughter and the Young Prince Viktor are to be wed by the year’s end. This glorious union will—”

Viktor’s chair clattered to the floor as he stood. A few gasps rang out through the hall, but he was too beside himself with anger to care. In the few seconds it took for onlookers to realize it was _him_ causing a scene, he was already storming towards the ballroom’s entranceway.

“Viktor! Where are you going?!” Viktor heard his father call out to him, but his pace did not falter.

“I’ll be waiting in the carriage.” He called out curtly. The attendants by the door barely had enough sense to react and open the door for him, conflicted as they were. When Viktor got outside, he saw the coachman leaning against the carriage, smoking and reading a pamphlet. He jumped in surprise when he saw Viktor, rushing to get the staircase to help him, but Viktor opened the carriage door and climbed in without it.

Some time passed, though Viktor was not sure how much. But by now, guests of the ball seemed to be filtering out in groups of two or three. Eventually, Viktor saw his father, attended by the royal guard, heading for the carriage. His father, with the assistance of the coachman, climbed in silently and took his seat. Viktor stared out the window, pointedly ignoring his father’s existence as the coachman cracked his reigns, and the carriage kicked off.

“You know that everything I do is because I know what’s best for you, right?” His father asked.

“And so, without my consent or even fair warning, you’ve decided to marry me off to a random family?” Viktor asked mockingly. He didn’t look back, but he could feel his father bristle at his words.

“Why do you insist on clinging to your sad and miserable moods? You need to move on from this incident and find peace and happiness. I simply want to see the son of mine that used to be happy and filled with joy.”

“…Why do you really want me married to this woman?” Viktor asked in a more hostile of a tone than he intended.

“Do you really not trust your father?” Viktor heard the hurt in his father’s voice but… he had thought about this exact question for hours before. The answer was no. He couldn’t trust his father anymore—not with so many doubts and suspicions plaguing is mind day in and day out. But he didn’t have the courage to confess this. Instead, he stayed silent, and there was an awkward silence between them as the carriage rumbled on. Until, finally, his father spoke once more.

“…The Carteneaus, through extended bloodlines, are related to the Gaian Dynasty.”

“Oh, of course.” Viktor laughed, realizing immediately what his father was scheming. Atleaus and Gaia had been at war for years now, but the Gaian empire was an expanse in comparison to the nation of Atleaus. Still, it was by military excellence and sheer size that they held off their enemy. But the toll was being taken on both sides—every border skirmish or raid, every month-long siege, ever battle for one plain or another took heavy tolls on both sides. Viktor knew this well; it was his very own mother assassinated by Gaian spies as retribution. He did not want to see this senseless war continue on, but he did not want to be caught in his father’s schemes in the process.

“Viktor, you must learn to see reason. Through our recent peace talks, the Gaian Empress has agreed to acknowledge the Carteneau-Nikiforov union as one binding both our nations. This would mean an end to this war, an end to this senseless violence. You must set your feelings aside just this once and look to the greater future.”

“When have my feelings ever been a priority?” Viktor said beneath his breath. His father did not respond for a very long time, so Viktor assumed he hadn’t heard.

“What weighs more, Viktor? The feelings of one person, or the lives of countless individuals?”

\- - -

Lilia was sparring against Yuuri harder than usual. It had never even once occurred to him that she might’ve been holding back before, but as each attack came quicker than the last, he realized that she was trying to break him of his defensive habits. Instead of her usually micromanaging his stances and behavior, she was silent and wore a calculating gaze. When he barely caught a parry, she did not snap at him to be quicker, she simply followed away and moved into a counter-attack.

Yuuri was on edge now, but he had to at least show her he could fight back. She stepped forward with a slash arcing from the right, and he caught it with a full-on block that required more of his strength. Damn. Even as he tried to step back and figure out a counter-attack, she was already on the move. If she wanted him to be more aggressive, she was not making it easy.

“Ha!” She let out a yell of exertion, stepping forward once more as he took a pace back. In a downward ark, she swung her sword aimed straight at his head. He met it with another block, but this time, as she forced her strength into her sword, he tipped the blade end down. He watched her surprise; in a split second her sword was buried in the ground and her side was completely open, and he was stepping forward to strike. She asked for it, didn’t she?

Instead of steel meeting flesh, as he expected, he cut into open air. Lilia caught on to what he was doing, and following the moment of her sword as soon as he was striking; she was a quick roll across the grass and up on her feet in moments, yards away from him.

“Is that better?” Yuuri asked.

“Much better.” She wiped a bit of sweat off her brow. “I dare say you struck with intent to kill.”

“Oh, n-no, I…” Yuuri trailed off, and she laughed.

“No matter. I figured it was about time anyway. Set down your sword and come inside.”

Lilia turned away quickly, setting down her own sword and leaving him in the yard. He sighed for a moment, trepidation finding him quickly. Whatever she had in store, he did not like the idea of it.

She was waiting for him at the doorway, and once he set down his sword she quickly led him inside and began towards a room Yuuri had never been in. In fact, he hadn’t seen much of the house besides the room he woke up in. It was where he rested whenever Lilia wasn’t sparring with him, or Yakov wasn’t making him work chores. But at the end of a long hallway there stood an empty room, barren of any furniture or wall hangings. Well, save for a single large wooden box. It was at the far end of the room, and from this distance he could not see what was inside.

Lilia took a large knife from the holster at her hip and held it out to Yuuri. Gently, he took the knife, but looked up to her in confusion.

“Do you remember why we brought you back?” She asked him.

“I’m… to be an assassin.”

“That is correct. I don’t know whether you are familiar taking lives yet, so allow me to start you off small.” She walked over to the box and as she reached in, he heard a noise so small it made his heart drop. Yuuri wanted to think he imagined it, he hoped it was ears playing tricks on him.

But when she stood and turned around, grasped in her hands by the scruff of its neck was a small kitten.


	4. Heavy is the Head That Wears the Crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The archive warning of this fic and listed in the notes of this fic apply to this chapter.
> 
> EDIT: I want to thank everyone who has taken their time to read, comment, or give this fic kudos. You all are the drive that makes me want to write, so thank you from the bottom of my heart <3

 “Please tell me this is a cruel joke.” He threw the knife on the ground and shook his head. “You can’t be serious right now.”

“Save me the sentimentality. What use do I have of an assassin that can’t even take the life of an animal? It is but one of many lives you will learn to take—this I promise you. Save this poor thing the pain of starving to death or being devoured by another animal. This,”

She held the kitten higher, and with its tail between its legs, completely helpless in her grasp, it cried out.

“ _This_ _is a mercy_.”

She was being serious, not that Yuuri had ever seen her behave in any way but. This cat had been his only anchor—even in the few days, when despair had been a close friend, however small it may have been he found solace in this small kitten. Feeding it had given him some sense of purpose.

To hell with it all. His life had already lost all meaning, he was going to bet it all on a kitten. In a flash, he snatched the kitten from Lilia’s hand and held it against his chest. Its claws were digging deeply into him as he ran, but he did not care. Even if the cat ended up hating him, he had to save its life. He ran for the yard, and towards the forest, and he could already hear Lilia hot on his heels, probably fuming. Would she keep true to the threats she had made and kill him? So what; he could only hope so.

“Go, run,” Yuuri set the kitten down at the edge of the forest, and the poor thing sprinted off with a hiss. He knelt there and closed his eyes, listening as Lilia’s footsteps slowed to a halt.

“ _Your death binds you to me_.” Lilia’s voice seemed to echo through his ears, and he gasped as something seemed to tighten around his neck. His scar felt like it was burning him, and wringing him like a vice. This was certainly new.

“ _Obey_.” Yuuri could barely look up—it felt as if something was weighing down on him—but he managed to see Lilia, fist clenched around an aura of darkness in her hands. She seemed to be reciting some sort of incantation rather than speaking directly to him.

“ _You_ ,” She clenched her fists tighter, and Yuuri grasped at his neck in futility. “…Are weak.”

She turned away from him, heading into the forest. Some of the tension in his neck subsided, and for that he was relieved, but he could still feel a menacing threat around him. He used these precious moments to simply breathe, and he didn’t know how much time had passed. But she came back, and when he suffered to look up, he only wished that he hadn’t.

“Tell me…” She was holding the discarded knife in one hand, and in her other was the kitten. Could he not have even this one thing? Was asking for one bit of solace too much?

“Why did you bother trapping the prince with such powerful magic, if only to squander it? Was it for the royal caches? Did you have a score to settle? Why, if you were only going to be such a _weak_ individual?”

“I don’t... remember.” Yuuri choked out.

“A pity.” She said, and Yuuri gasped as Lilia flicked her wrist, and with a painful choking sound, the kitten’s throat was slit. It jerked a few times in her hands before going lax. Yuuri dropped his head down, letting shame and regret overwhelm him. Why didn’t she just save them both the trouble and kill him? It would make things so much easier. Instead, she released the grip she had over him and walked past, cat still in her hands, towards the house, leaving him to wallow in his self-pity. He knew, of course, sooner or later Yakov and Lilia would ask him to kill, yet in his mind he hoped the day would come later rather than sooner. Even if he tried to broach the idea in his own mind, he could never prepare himself. Damn it all, he couldn’t even kill a weakened kitten with his own hand. He tried to hold his head back, to refuse himself tears that he didn’t deserve, but it was a lost effort.

Left there, crying under the darkening sky, Yuuri was sure that in his previous he had been a terrible person, and that this was his punishment.

\- - -

A few days had passed since his incident at the ball, and Viktor was keeping up a steady act of the silent treatment. He was shirking most of his responsibilities in favor of sulking in different rooms of the castle, but in the end his only form of rebellion against his father was small and negligible. In the end, the king always got his way, and it always irked Viktor to no end. He had been relaxing in one of the lounge rooms scattered about the castle when he heard the commotion. Something was going on in the entranceway, and he set down his book to go investigate.

“I’ve waited weeks for this—you can’t turn me away at the doorstep before seeing the king! This appointment has been scheduled and is far overdue.” A woman dressed in the simple robes of a priest was having her way blocked at the doorway by two of his knights.

“How did you even get in here? I can guarantee an unsightly woman like you would not be able manage an audience with the king.”

“The guards at the gate let me in! Read this note, I have _permission_.” The woman held up a letter and Viktor watched as one of the knights snatched it and gave it a quick read.

“All this trouble for a petition?”

“The king has to see this as soon as possible. It’s reached the required amount of signatures, justice has to be seen—”

“Why do you care?” One of the knights cut her off, malice lighting up their voice. “The deed has already been done. He’s dead.”

“But I cannot let his name be run through the mud like this. I won’t let his history be slandered like this.”

“The king has better things to do with his time than see through pointless petitions for events that have already—”

“A reevaluation of the facts. That is all I ask for—please, just give him the letter and the petition, and you won’t hear from me again.”

“Know what? No, we don’t have to-”

“Excuse me,” Viktor decided to step in now. “What’s going on over here?”

“Ah! Your highness!” The two knights quickly bowed, and before long the priestess followed suit. “Nothing, this madam here was just about to leave, weren’t you?”

“I…” She looked down at the ground, conflicted for some reason, and Viktor frowned.

“Oh, what’s this in your hand? I want to see it.” Viktor snatched the paper from the knight’s hand and unfolded it.

“No, your highness, it’s nothing!”

Viktor held it away from the knight as he began to read it.

‘Through independent discoveries and interviews with relatives and acquaintances of the deceased, the Church of Atleaus has found evidence clearing Yuuri Katsuki of any wrongdoing. As is listed in our laws, even sentences that have ended in execution can be reevaluated and re-documented if the perpetrator is decidedly innocent. The people of our humble capital have seen this evidence and would like to present it to the king, on behalf of the church, in hopes that the Katsuki family name can be cleared of any criminal intent against the ruling family.’

Attached on the back was a long list of signatures, some even recognizable from artists across Atleaus, and a few nobility. How had she managed this feat?

“Who… are you? Why do you wish to clear Yuuri’s name?” Viktor asked her. She bristled, avoiding his eyes for a while before taking a breath and speaking.

“My name is Minako Okukawa, of the Church of Atleaus; I’ve known Yuuri since he was a very young boy. He has a heart of gold—Prince Nikiforov, I swear on my life, Yuuri is not capable of such evils. He did not trick you! He was framed by someone, and the evidence is surmounting, if only your family would deign to look for it!”

Viktor felt taken aback at her ferocity—he could feel the sheer anger emanating from her.

“How dare you speak to the prince in such a fashion? Have you no shame?”

The priestess, Minako, stepped back in shock as the guards turned on her, rearing out their swords and facing her.

“Stand down!” Viktor ordered, putting his hand up and in between the knights and Minako. They were shocked, but heeded in fear of harming the prince as they took a step back.

“Your Majesty, we only—”

“That’s enough.” Viktor silenced them, turning away and holding the petition up in his hands. “Priestess Minako? You can tell that church that my father, the king, will certainly see this petition. I’m sorry for the disrespect my knights have shown you, they will certainly be punished.”

“You’re helping me… but… why?” She seemed truly and genuinely surprised at his kindness, certainly trying to find the catch or some form of trickery. Viktor could understand—surely she saw him as one of the catalysts leading to Yuuri’s death, another cog that accused him of witchcraft and saw to his execution. He had no right to prove himself to her, seeing as his inaction had cost him dearly, but all he could hope for in these coming days was defining his own retribution. This would be one step.

“…I can empathize with you. It’s the least I can do.” Viktor said, looking down once more at the letterhead. “I can understand exactly how you feel.”

“Pray forgive me my rudeness, your highness, but somehow I doubt that.” She said, and Viktor could hear his guards behind bristle in anger. He smiled nonetheless.

“I can’t blame you for that. Worry nonetheless, my father will see this. Thank you for bringing it here, you have no idea what this means to me.”

\- - -

_Nothing could be more nerve-wracking. Yuuri could be slated for execution and he doubted he would feel as nervous as he did right now._

_“Don’t fidget with your sleeve.” His mother chided him, holding up his wrist to button up the ends of his shirt once more. “Now, bend down so I can fix up your hair.”_

_“He should leave it like this,” Mari came up behind him, rustling his hair. “I think it looks adorable.”_

_He scoffed in her direction as he pushed up his glasses and gave her a half-hearted glare._

_“A young man should look presentable and professional in front of royalty,” Their father commented from across the room. “Not ‘adorable’.”_

_Yuuri’s mother gave Mari a triumphant look before using a comb to smooth his hair back and away from his face. He preferred to paint with his back anyway, and with his current customer he could not afford to present anything but his best. Still, anticipation reeled about inside of him. He tried to tell himself that it would be no different than painting a portrait for nobility, but he knew this was far different. This was the prince he was painting—and no amount of skill or experience could prepare him for this. He had been lauded since a very young age for being a genius with the paintbrush and canvas, yet still doubt plagued him whenever he had a customer. Doubt and disappointment. No matter how much his art was praised, it did not guarantee him recognition. Yet somehow, his art had caught the king’s eye… would this be the big break he’d hoped for? Yet still, something seemed off—and no, it was not the simple fact that he would be painting the prince’s portrait. He just had a sinking feeling something was going to go wrong._

_“Come now, let me see you smile!” Yuuri jumped when he felt his mother pinching his cheeks. He smirked and rubbed at his face when she let go, satisfied in getting a reaction out of him._

_“A frown can’t possibly be good luck. Sit down and have some tea for your nerves.”_

_Still swiping and picking at his clothing, his mother bade him sit down while she put a kettle on the fire to boil._

_Time passed in what felt like a crawl, and when the hour came that the carriage was supposed to get him, he had already finished his tea and had moved on to nervously drumming his fingers over the table._

_“I think I hear horses!” Mari shook Yuuri’s shoulder, and he jumped to attention, bag in his hand as he looked out the window._

_“There’s… nothing outside.” He turned back to her sly, nonchalant expression._

_“Oh. Must’ve been hearing things, then.” She said with a shrug._

_“Mari, show some maturity.” Their father gave her a disapproving look, to which she feigned innocence._

_“I’m only trying to lighten the mood.” She explained._

_“You’re not help—” Yuuri cut himself off, ears at full attention, when he heard the unmistakable sound of a carriage outside. Up here, in the hills of the capital city, very few could call themselves nobility, much less afford horses and a carriage. To hear an actual horse-drawn carriage where he lived was rare._

_“Okay. Okay, okay, okay.” He picked up his briefcase, with all his necessary tools, and clutched it to his chest. The king would provide the canvas and easel, so that dispelled some of the burden, but now his nervousness was rushing back with twice the force._

_“Wait, I almost forgot!” Yuuri’s mother sprinted from the living room, and Yuuri tapped his foot._

_“I can’t very well keep the prince of our nation waiting, mom!” He called out, to which he received an indignant huff as she walked back into the room._

_“Hold still.” She reached up to his collar and began fastening something to it. It was heavy, and a brief glance told him it was some sort of brooch. Where had she gotten the money for this? He didn’t have time to wonder long, as she was soon pushing him towards the door._

_“Go, now, Yuuri!” She said as he opened the door, smiling. “We’re so proud of you.”_

_He nodded, words catching in his throat as he stepped outside and greeted the coachman._

_For a moment, he imagined this must be what nobility felt like—having a coachman pull out a stairs and sitting a posh and soft horse-drawn carriage. All this for a humble painter, he thought._

_-_

_When Yuuri finally arrived at the castle, he was at first taken aback by the beauty of the building. To see it from afar was one experience, to stand literally outside the gates was another. Though his view was narrow, he could see the front gardens had carved marble statues and fountains surrounded by beautiful plants and flowers. As he was escorted out of his carriage and led by an entourage of knights into the castle, he was taken in even more by the inside._

_Polished floors that shone like mirrors and tapestries lining the wall could not hold a candle, in Yuuri’s eyes, to the paintings that hung over the grand foyer. Portraits of the Nikiforov lineage, each with their chins raised high in an imposing manner, with a space for one missing. The prince’s._

_Yuuri found it odd that nobility made such a huge fuss over covering their marks in public, yet in portraits and paintings it was a sign of power and prestige. Yuuri instinctively gulped; he would be painting the prince’s mark. It would be no different than any other time, he reminded himself._

_“Right this way,” One of the knights ordered, and Yuuri was led through the corridors of the castle until they stopped before a room. They opened the door for him, stepping aside so he could enter, and Yuuri was greeted with royal shades of red, blue and purple that adorned the room. In the middle of the room was a burgundy chaise, embroidered with filigrees of gold, and right in front of it was an easel with a canvas already laid out. Yet, in the center of it all, back turned so that he could only see a frame of silver hair and the cape of royalty, was Prince Nikiforov himself._

_Maids surrounded him, buttoning up and adjusting his clothing and whatnot. It wasn’t until the knights announced themselves that he turned to look._

_“Is the painter here already?” The prince turned slightly to face him, eyeing him with crystal blue eyes like Yuuri had never seen, and gentle smile that made his voice catch in his throat. “One second.”_

_Yuuri opened his mouth to say ‘Yes, Your Highness’ or something, but he couldn’t make a dignified sound, so he opted for bowing at the waist instead. The knights who had entered the room withdrew to stand guard at the door, and Yuuri decided to set down his briefcase and lay out his paints and brushes before the easel,_

_“There…” One of the maidservants commented, stepping back and bowing to the prince as they withdrew from the room._

_“Alright, then. Thank you for heeding my request… Yuuri Katsuki, was it?” Viktor said as he sat down on the chaise._

_“Yes, I,” Yuuri stopped to clear his throat, embarrassed at the nervousness in his throat. “The pleasure is all mine, Your Highness. It is an honor to be able to paint you.”_

_“My, my, aren’t you a charmer?” Viktor laughed as he leaned back. “But feel free to pose me as you see fit. I’ve never had my portrait done before now.”_

_“If… may I ask why?” Yuuri regretted the question as soon as he asked it, but to his relief the Prince did not find it rude. He put a finger to his mouth in thought._

_“I should have had a portrait done as soon as I came of age… But at the time, I found art to be a hideous ordeal, what with standing around stiff for a painting that didn’t even look like you. Then I saw your paintings.”_

_Yuuri dropped his paintbrush._

_“Your art looks so life-like… It’s almost scary. I want to see how you do it—how I would look in your art style. So paint me.”_

_Yuuri bit his lip as a shiver ran through him, and scrambled to pick up his paintbrush. His heart was beating a thousand times a second, and his hands were now moist with sweat. It was simple nervousness, he told himself as he tried to banish any foolish thoughts from his mind. Deep breaths. This had to be perfect._

_“May… your mark, please?” Yuuri managed to utter, hiding his flushed face from view with the canvas as he spoke. “So that we can get an, uh, optimal pose.”_

_“Of course,” Viktor smiled, undoing the buttons of his dress shirt and rolling up his sleeve. Yuuri took a look from behind the canvas, about to direct him on how to pose, when he stopped._

_His eyes were locked on Viktor’s right arm, and Yuuri felt confused for a moment. He tilted his head to the side, wondering if he was looking into a mirror, squinting because his mind refused to accept any other possibility as reasonable. He blinked, then blinked again. Was that…? No. That was his mark, but why was it on—_

_Yuuri gasped, and for the second time within the span of a minute, he dropped his paintbrush. Viktor looked up, smile fading as he took in Yuuri’s shell-shocked expression._

_“Is something the matter…?”_

_“You… you’ve got to be joking right now.” Yuuri whispered, putting a hand to his mouth as he backed up. The guards behind him shuffled with a clank, and he tried to find the words to answer, but they had left him quickly as he realized what this meant. With shaking fingers, he reached up to the buttons on the sleeve of his blouse, and fear spiked, for what if he was mistaken? He began unbuttoning it and stepped in front of the canvas._

_Viktor was visibly confused at Yuuri’s actions, head cocked to the side and mirroring Yuuri’s previous motions. But then he saw what Yuuri had seen moments ago, and his eyes went wide with surprise; the other half to his heart. A deep red, with filigree covering the edges of his half, and a small dot in the center—perfectly mirrored on Viktor’s arm. Prince Viktor—heir to the throne, monarch of this nation. The knights behind him gasped loudly, one of them even shouting a curse. But Yuuri could not find any words to say, he only looked into Viktor’s eyes and saw the same understanding pass through. Neither of them knew where the hell to go from here._

_Someone had to be playing a cruel joke on him._

_But the punchline never came._

\- - -

Days went by, and Yuuri had to practice killing small animals. It was Lilia and Yakov’s way of desensitizing him to the act killing. He hated it, and he hated both of them for forcing him to do this, but most of all he hated himself. Because it was working. When he finally managed to efficiently take the lives of squirrels and raccoons, Yakov would take him hunting. They set up traps for animals like deer and stags, but these traps did not kill the animal. Yuuri had to take his sword and end their lives himself.

“It’s about time you’ve gotten over this little phobia of yours,” Lilia said to him one night. “I had been considering washing my hands of you. But it’s not easy bringing back a human, much less a witch of your caliber. Come with me.”

Whenever she had Yuuri follow her, something terrible happened, and a rightful sense of unease began to fill him as she led them to the front of the house. She had a sword in her hand. Lilia and Yakov’s home was built into the top side of a hill, with a steep, narrow road leading down into more forest, and eventually a village. But essentially it was secluded. He was surprised, however, to see Yakov in the driver’s seat of a carriage, reigns in his hand hooked up to two horses. Yuuri held a gasp in his throat; something was wrong with the horses. Though there were cowls covering most of their bodies, of what was revealed he could see rotting flesh and even whitened bone peeking out, as if these were cadavers of once living horses. For all he knew of Lilia and Yakov, they very well could have been.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Get inside.” Lilia had already climbed into the carriage and Yuuri obediently followed, sitting in the chair opposite of hers. She sat with her sword resting on her lap, glaring down at it as if its presence somehow offended her. With a crack of the reigns, the carriage was in motion, and a worrying sense of vertigo filled Yuuri as his seat bumped and rocked down the steep road.

“Make no mistake, boy,” Lilia did not waste time cutting to the chase. “If you fail tonight, we _will_ cut our losses with you. We have no use for an assassin that cannot take a life.”

From her jacket, she pulled a piece of paper, and on it was a detailed sketch of an elderly man with a portly face. Judging from the looks, he was some sort of nobility.

“The lord of the manor for this pitiful village is your target tonight. You will kill him, and cut down any who stand in your way. I do not expect you to take a quiet approach, but I highly doubt you capable of wanton slaughter. If you cannot kill a pathetic lord such as this, what hopes do you have of facing against the prince?”

She handed over the slip of paper and Yuuri looked over it, a sense of dread already weighing down on him as the village came closer and closer into view from his tiny window.

“Your only guidance will be your sword.” She lifted the sword from her lap and held it out towards Yuuri. Reluctantly he took it, and anguished at how familiar its weight had become to his hands.

“Let it be your beacon. Either come back to us with his head, or hope the knights have found a way to kill you.”


	5. The Birth of a Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey remember that archive warning for graphic depictions of violence? It still applies.

Before leaving him at the edge of town without as much as a direction, Lilia gave Yuuri one final thing. It was a long black cloak, darker than the night, which seemed to draw shadows into it.

“Wear this to conceal yourself from your enemies. His name is Carteneau.” She paused for a moment and a wry smile came to her lips. “Tell him the Empress sends her regards.” This was all she said to him before she and Yakov disappeared into the night. It was cryptic, and Yuuri did not know enough to decipher its meaning, but in the end he determined it didn’t matter.

He donned the cloak, and immediately he felt it; this cloak was imbued with magic of some sort. As he pulled the hood up over his head he could feel the darkness of the night and the shadows around drawing to him, trying their best to conceal him. It felt so… unnatural, as if he were one with the night. Still, he pressed forward.

The village around Yuuri was quiet, as if asleep with the night. Yuuri felt like an intruder upon a family’s home, come to murder them whilst they slept. He supposed it was a fitting description. The village had one main road, off of which contained its main shops and buildings. Smaller streets gave way to the more residential homes, no doubt the shelter of peasants and the less than influential. They would not be the posh home of a nobleman—likely lesser families that served him. Yuuri made his way further into the village.

Eventually the roads gave way to more gravely texture, and buildings became less intricate, turning into farms and crop fields. Yuuri feared perhaps that Yakov and Lilia had gotten the location wrong, but then he saw it in the distance, way out past the cornfields and countryside. The bright lights of a mansion that meant nobility resided there.

Yuuri walked, going over in his mind what to do, of how to approach this; did he simply walk up to the guards and begin wanton slaughter? No—the thought sickened him; he had already made up his mind beforehand that he would not take a life unnecessarily. Only kill in self-defense. He would not listen to the things Lilia told him. Reveling in bloodshed was not something he could do.

Eventually he saw the grand pathway leading towards the front gates. Two guards stood at attention there, stiffening as Yuuri made his way further along.

“Halt! What business do you have here, beggar?” One of the guards took a step forward, holding his spear up threateningly.

“I… I have an urgent message from the king for Lord Carteneau.” It was the best Yuuri could muster up on short notice, but he knew his farce was called when he heard the guard scoff.

“Aye, in the middle of the night, you came here on foot to deliver a message from the king. I’ll believe it while I’m skewering you. Arrest this fool!”

The two of them held up their weapons, ready to pounce, and Yuuri knew he couldn’t let himself be captured. There was no guarantee of escape, so for now, he would draw his sword.

The two knights spread out on either side, both with the intent to strike him at the same time. Yuuri had never been given the experience of fighting multiple enemies, but his defense did not waver. As he expected, they struck at once—one from his right, the other to his left, and Yuuri parried the spear to his right, stepping back and letting the second spear follow through his attack, missing him by a wide margin. Both spearman hit each other, with a clang, nearly skewering each other in the process.

_Counterattack_ , a voice reminded Yuuri. One of the guard’s back was turned to him, completely exposed. In that spit second, Yuuri’s mind hesitated between wavering and falling back, or stepping forward and delivering the blow. He would not be able to make it inside the manor unless he managed to subdue these two. Falter for too long, and he would be caught. And their impenetrable armor made it nigh impossible to inflict small wounds. He imagined the countless times when he slit the throats of dying deer, or skewered poor woodland animals that could not hope to fight back. This would be no different, he reminded himself. Animals or humans, it made no difference—if he couldn’t kill here and now, he would die himself.

He stepped forward and thrust his sword between the pauldron and back plate of the guard’s armor. Yuuri steeled himself against the feeling of sword digging into flesh, and it sickened him how familiar it was. With a firm push, he buried his sword in the knight’s back.

With a gut-wrenching noise, Yuuri pulled his blood-laden sword back, and the guard’s body fell to the ground, twitching and sputtering in shock as a pool of blood began to surround him.

“You…” The other guard looked down to his comrade, horror stricken in his voice. “You son of a—!”

The guard rushed forward, all pretense of form lost as he swung at Yuuri with his spear. Yuuri blocked it easily and sent the guard staggering back as he used his momentum to cast the blade up in the air. In a quick flash of metal, he slashed at the guard’s stomach, deep enough and low enough to cut flush beneath his chain mail. The man let out a gut wrenching wet yell as he doubled over next to his fellow guard.

Yuuri took a deep breath. The sword on his hand felt heavier than it should have, and his limbs felt cold, almost frost-bitten. He’d taken two human lives already. He felt… well, simply put, he felt horrific. He ground his teeth to keep back the horrifying feeling gnawing at his chest, and tightened his grip further on his bloody sword as he stepped inside the gates.

“I hate this,” Yuuri told himself as he approached the manor’s front doors.  “I hate this so much.”

Yuuri tried the front doors, but of course it was locked. No one had seemed to notice him cutting down the two at the front door—whether it was because the security was lax, or because most of the guards were indoors, Yuuri was about to find out.

It was only a matter of time before some patrols found the bodies, so Yuuri had no choice but to force it open. Peering through the crack of the door, his luck seemed to surge when he saw a thick wooden bar keeping the doors bound on the other side. With his sword, he managed to shimmy the bar up and unlock the doors, as quiet an entrance he would be able to manage. Dim lights that had been pouring from the windows were of course lanterns—mag stones were too bright to use so late at night, and too scarce to waste.

The front foyer of the mansion was empty, but there seemed to be noises coming from a light at the end of a long hallway; it smelled like a kitchen. He would avoid that area for now, and hope Carteneau was upstairs sleeping.

As he made his way up the staircase, he was thankful for the carpeting to conceal his footsteps. He was about as stealthy as a horse, but in the dark, thankfully, this cloak seemed to be doing its job of concealing him. Once he made it to the second floor, he chanced a direction and began stalking the halls. He listened carefully for door after door, listening for signs of life before gently creaking one open. He stumbled across empty bed chambers, lounges, and libraries, but none contained Carteneau.

As Yuuri was about to make his way to the other wing, he saw someone ascending the stairs. Quickly, he ducked into one of the empty rooms and saw that it was a servant carrying a tray of food in one hand, and bottle of wine in the other. A realization dawned upon Yuuri, and once the servant was far enough away he followed.

In the opposite wing, the wing Yuuri had yet to explore, the servant opened one of the doors and bowed deeply.

“More wine, milord?” Yuuri heard the servant ask, and he breathed a sigh of relief. This could finally be over.

He couldn’t hear what was being said from inside the room, but once the servant descended back down the stairs, Yuuri gathered up his nerves. It was time to strike

Quickly, he made his way across the hall and opened the door. Light flooded the otherwise dark hallway, and lilted laughter poured out. Yuuri caught a glimpse of woman, in all manners of undress, surrounding a man who matched Yuuri’s picture. Carteneau.

“What is it now? I thought I told you to leave us—” The lord broke off once the women surrounding him gasped. He looked to Yuuri. All pallor of drunkenness and pleasure left his face immediately.

“Who… wha… I…Intruder! Guards, intruder!” He backed away, pulling his robes around himself as Yuuri entered the room, drawing his sword.

“Lord Carteneau.” A deep breath. He had already taken lives tonight. What good was it to mourn one more? “The empress sends her regards.”

He stepped forward and stabbed his sword into the lord’s chest. Carteneau’s eyes went wide with surprise as he tried to clutch weakly at the sword. But his movements slowed and before long he went still, face a statue of surprise and horror in stark white. Yuuri pulled his sword free, and turned to leave in time for screaming to erupt from the room. He had to leave, fast.

He had rushed down the stairs in a sprint, practically jumping to the second floor as he made a line for the front door. But to his dismay, he heard the unmistakable sound of metal footsteps just outside the door. They were also coming from behind him, from upstairs. He cursed and ran to his left, almost relieved to find a door behind the stairway. He flung it open and ran down into the long, dark staircase.

At first he thought he’d wondered into some sort of basement, but as he came to an ornamental door, he realized it was a service entrance to some kind of indoor garden. He could see most of the garden, lit by the moon and stars, but he had no time to admire his surroundings. He ran to the nearest bush and ducked down, listening. He waited quiet for a long time, relieved to learn no one had followed him. Now he had to escape.

“I see you!”

Yuuri felt his heart leap out of his chest as a yell from above caught him off guard. From a balcony on what seemed to be the third floor, there stood a knight in dark armor, looking down on him. They jumped down, from a height that would have shattered a normal human’s legs, armor or no. They landed with grace however, and stood carefully.

“Filthy assassin! I’ll have your head!” The knight, a woman, pulled her sword from her sheathe before rushing towards Yuuri with an overhead slice and intent to kill. He was almost taken aback further, not with surprise of her appearance, but with the familiarity of her voice. Where had he heard it before?

Yuuri met her strike with a block—all he could manage at such short distance and such fast speed. Their metal sung in the air, and grinded at the sheer of force of trying to out match one another. Yuuri broke away first, ducking backwards to avoid any of her counterattacks. Both hands gripping her sword, she came back with a sideways slice. Yuuri managed to block it, using his hand to augment his block against her strike.

“So you’re not just some coward with a knife. You have some skill. But I can’t suffer you to live any longer.”

She drew back, sword outstretched before her. Yuuri gasped as its gleaming metal began to change, as if it shone brighter. In the shadows under the pale moonlight, he might have thought his eyes were tricking him, that the moon was causing a reflection, but this was no mistake.

He gasped the horrific sight of it, once the sword’s transformation was complete. To call the sword white would be an understatement, it simply looked as if its shape was torn from existence, leaving a hole in its wake. Oddly enough, the sword seemed to exude light, yet it did not brighten its surroundings. White smoke seemed to creep off of it, like it exuded some sort of aura. An aura of magic.

This person was a witch.

He was almost too surprised to jump back when they swung at him—something told him this sword could not be handled ordinarily. It swing through the air, effortlessly, soundlessly, and left white streams of light in its wake. How could this woman be a witch _and_ a knight when magic was explicitly banned throughout the kingdom? But he couldn’t chance the time to think about that, its importance waned in comparison to a murderous woman swinging a sword at him.

When next she swung her sword, a slice to his side, Yuuri held up his own to parry it. But to his astonishment, the blade passed through his sword as if it were air.

He gasped in shock as the sword passed into his abdomen—actually entered him. He had been struck by a sword numerous times, on account to Lilia’s training, but never had she tried to slice him clean in half. He did not know what to expect, but the freezing sensation, like ice, was not it. It did not feel like the normal way a sword was supposed to slice, but as if cold feeling wrapped around his stomach and was trying to choke all life from him, trying to drain him of all his energy. But it was failing.

“What?!” The woman tried to pull her sword back, but the cold sensation seemed to be fixed to Yuuri. “You should be dead! This sword kills all whom it cuts!”

Yuuri couldn’t say a word; he realized what his happening. Reflexively, his body had drawn in energy and was trying to heal himself, just as quickly as the sword was trying to kill him. The knight, realizing that retrieving her sword was a lost cause, let go of it and stepped back. The white that enveloped it drew back, and Yuuri had sense enough to pull the sword out. He gasped at the initial pain, but the cold of his healing fully shrouded his abdomen, as if the sword had been inhibiting him.

He choked out a breath of relief, clenching his fist around his sword.

“You…” The knight lifted her gloved hand and pointed at him. Curiously, Yuuri looked down and realized why she was surprised. For a brief moment, he could see a dark shadow encompassing his chest, running across his entire body in an entrancing aura. He quickly realized what was happening, and experimentally he held up his sword. The dark aura rushed to the metal, encompassing it with a shadow in stark contrast the knight’s. It was darker than the night, gave off a presence of unease that bothered even Yuuri.

“Who are you? Who sent you?” She asked, skillfully kicking her sword up from the ground and into her hands.

“I don’t know the answer to your first question,” Yuuri explained, holding up his pitch-filled sword carefully. It reminded him of his own cloak, but something was terribly wrong with it. It was as if, like that woman’s sword, his sword was removed from reality and contained a shadow all its own. It felt as light as air and moved with his hands with similar gravity, leaving streaks of shadows in its wake.

“And I can’t answer your second one. I don’t wish to fight you; I’ve already done my part. Let me leave.”

Yuuri tried to duck past her, now that she was distracted and less on edge. Before he had hoped to fight her quickly and be done with it, but now it was relieving that he didn’t have to take another life. He just needed to run.

“That voice!” She stepped back, moving to block off his escape. Their swords clashed—white against black, and it became apparent that whatever his sword was, it seemed like he could counter hers now. But he could almost swear she wasn’t even aiming for him.

It turns out she wasn’t.

With one hand holding her sword against his, in the time it took to for him to overpower her, he didn’t realize what she was actually doing. She reached forward and tore off his hood, revealing his face in the moonlight. He gasped, stepping back and trying to hide his face from view, but it was too late. The knight had already seen him.

“My god… It _is_ you.” The knight gasped, stepping forward in tandem, disbelief painting the voice beneath the helm.

“No… no, this is all wrong. God, _Yuuri_ it’s really you.”

“How do you know my name?!” He stepped back once more, shaking his head as the knight stepped forward.

“You’re alive… I thought you were dead— _we_ thought you were dead.”

“I don’t know who you think I am…” The door on the opposite wall. He could see the night from the window at his side. “But I’m not the person you once knew!”

With her guard down, Yuuri was able to dash past the knight.

“Wait!” She called out to him once more, but Yuuri was already kicking open the door. Silently, he bit back his confusion—forced his curiosity deep down—and he ran as fast as he could to the opposite end of the estate. Most of the knights seemed to be gathered inside, likely searching for him, but those that did remain outside didn’t react in time as he burst out the front gates. He ran immediately into the cornfields, seeking cover, as he pushed his body’s stamina and tried to make it back to the village.

From there, he decided it would be safer to walk back to Lilia and Yakov’s home.  

\- - -

_It was a quiet night, and although her mother and father had long went to sleep, she found herself wide awake. It was unusual for her._

_She didn’t wait up for Yuuri to get home—more often than usual he wandered in late, and she knew why. She teased him and poked fun about whomever it was he was spending his time with, but in actuality she was_ happy _to see her younger brother so happy. She had been scared he was going to be hitting an emotional slump, as artists are wont to do. But seeing him enjoy himself brought her great comfort._

_Except tonight. Tonight, nothing could settle the unease she felt, the sense of dread kept her out of bed. Yuuri had claimed today that he wouldn’t be long, and never did he stay overnight. When she wandered from her bedroom, unable to sleep, she discovered that he had still not made it home. Something was terribly wrong._

_She lit a candle, pondering her options, as she set about the kitchen to put on a pot of tea to calm her nerves._

_Then she heard it._

_The unprecedented, yet unmistakable sound of a horse and carriage. Scarce did they ever go by, but it was unheard of to hear on this late at night. She listened as it drew closer, but she was content to brush it off until the horses stopped seemingly right outside her door. It was nothing, she reminded herself, but she gripped the kettle harder. Then the banging came._

_“Open up!” The banging of metal against wood resounded through the house as someone pounded on the door. She jumped, dropping the kettle to the floor, but did not waste time picking it up. She rushed over to the door._

_“H-Hello? Katsuki resi—”_

_The moment she opened the door, the knight pushed it forward, spear raised and pointed towards her. Mari gasped, fear nearly paralyzing her as she struggled to find words._

_“What’s going on out…?” She heard her father behind her, but she was too scared to move, even as she heard her mother’s gasp._

_“Come quietly, or die where you stand! You are all under arrest for witchcraft.”_

_“No…” Mari whispered as more knights came in, grabbing her and her parents and dragging them outside. What she had initially thought was a carriage was in fact some sort of barred vehicle for prisoners._

_“No, this is all wrong!”_

_“Shut up, wench!” The knight shoved her inside, followed by her parents. How? How was this happening?_

_They had always been so careful._

_-_

_After Mari and her parents were delivered to the dungeons, they were promptly separated. Each cell was secluded, so to the point that she didn’t think anyone else was near her. For a few hours she just sat there in disbelief; this couldn’t be happening. Not to her. God, please, not to her. Her father had been so careful, she had never used magic once in her life. How could they have found out about them?_

_The numbness was passing, and all too soon Mari was crying as the gravity of the situation hung over her. They were going to execute her—her mother and father too. She wasn’t ready to die yet._

_But as she cried, she found a flicker of hope; Yuuri didn’t come home that night. He would see that they were missing, but there was hope for him yet. Perhaps he wouldn’t be condemned to this terrible hell._

_Mari eventually cried herself to exhaustion. Her tears had been voided, and so returned that feeling of numbness. She embraced it, because she didn’t want to think of the terrible things that would happen to her and her family. She sat against the cell walls, in utter darkness, waiting for them to come and kill her._

_And so they came. She could hear the heavy scraping of a door far outside her cell, and the sudden burst of light from a lantern. It burned her eyes, and she backed away into the far corners, knowing that the end was near._

_“Please,” She began begging, and it was shameful, but she had no other recourse. “Please, this is a huge mistake. Please.”_

_“Silence!” One of the knights, standing forward lifted the lantern as he stepped aside._

_“My liege,” The knight bowed, and stepping forward was a man Mari had no doubt was the king. If it were not for the crown on his head, then it was definitely the regal way in which he held himself, even in front of a prisoner and subsequently accused witch._

_“Your highness!” Mari dropped to her knees, clasping her hands pleadingly. “Please, just hear me out! This is a misunderstanding, I am innocent!”_

_He lifted his hand, eyes closed, and she quieted as he cleared his throat._

_“Listen well young one; I am not a cruel man. I only do what is right for this kingdom, and every decision, no matter how hard, is made with the mind for greater good.”_

_He opened his eyes and regarded Mari with a stern expression, and she knew then and there, there was little she could say to sway his mind. She was going to be executed._

_“It is only right that you understand the circumstances of your death. But rest assured, if you are indeed innocent, then you will not be condemned to hell. The Lord will embrace you into his kingdom._

_“Alas, it is your brother who has brought this fate upon your family. It is his crimes, treachery, and witchcraft that will lead to your ultimate demise. We cannot be sure whether or not your family is also filled with witches, but I must take the necessary steps to ensure this nation’s safety.”_

_“No… no, that isn’t right…” Mari was genuinely confused, wracking her mind for some logical explanation. But she could find none._

_“Yuuri isn’t a witch! He can’t be!” She cried, but the king only nodded his head with a solemn judgement, as if listening to the cries of a child._

_“I know it may be hard to understand, young one, but—”_

_“No, please listen to me! This is a mistake,_ Yuuri is not a witch _.” She said it with more firmness and conviction than she meant, and earned an incredulous look from the king. But still she held true. She and her father may have been witches, but she would not let Yuuri die for a crime he did not commit._

_“He is not a witch.” She repeated._

_“You speak with such confidence, girl!” The king huffed, nearly laughing. “Pray tell, how would you know?”_

_“I…” She could take a risk. There was no loss—he either believed her or didn’t. Either way, she would die. So she swallowed her inhibitions and looked up at the king._

_“Yuuri can’t be a witch because I’m the only witch in our family!” The king stood in stunned silence as she began to explain—how her mother left her father for Yuuri’s father upon finding out he was her soulmate. How Mari’s father had magical blood that manifested to her—but how, in the end, Yuuri and her mother and step-father had no magical blood lines. She clutched the bars, clinging to her last shred of dignity and hope._

_“Please, spare him and my family, but execute me if you must. He doesn’t need to suffer for something he didn’t do, and neither do our parents. Kill me in their place; I’m the witch you want.”_

_The king stood pondering, the loyal knights at his side in equal measures of confusion as he looked down at her face. Then he smiled, something wicked that should never grace a monarch’s face. She never expected the offer that came next, and the lies that followed._

_“Young girl, today might just be your lucky day.”_

\- - -

Mari stood, for what felt like an incredibly long time, just staring at the door Yuuri ran out of. She could hear the commotion of her fellow knights’ search bringing them into the lower levels, despite her claims that she could handle them. Most people stepped aside when a mage knight gave orders—though their existence was taboo, they were fearsome warriors. Witches and the like who could show their prowess with the sword were occasionally given the opportunity to sell themselves and their bloodline to Atleaus as knights and soldiers who wielded magicked swords. Mari was one of these few.

“Lady Katsuki?” One of the knights called out to her from the doorway behind her. She turned, silent, to face the haggard knight.

“What is it?” Her voice sounded distant to her own ears; she was still pondering what just transpired.

“Any sign of the assassin?” The knight asked.

“Yes,” She said, looking to the door he ran from. “I saw him running into the garden, but I was on one of the upper balconies. I was about to set chase, but it was too late by the time I came down.”

“Damn! The king will want to have word of this, but never the less we have to put a bounty on that cretin’s head.”

“Mm.” She hummed her response, still lost in thought. It couldn’t have been Yuuri. The moon was playing tricks with her eyes—it could not have been him.

She remembered very well the promise the king made to her that day, when she was desperate for salvation. He claimed he would spare her and her family, so long as she joined the royal army as one of their covert mage knights. The condition was that she could never see her family again, with only the promise that they would be safe and sound. It was nothing but a lie—despite their agreement, the king executed Yuuri. Even after she explained that she was the witch, not him. He killed her brother and left her and her parents alive to suffer through it, never mind that she would never see her mother and father again.

She looked up at the moon, taking off her helm and holding it beneath her arm as she stared up.

No. It couldn’t have been him. There was no logical explanation as to why or how. She would not let her imagination get the best of her. It was fatigue, or hunger, or stress, but God she could not give in to the childish belief that her brother was still alive. Not when she didn’t have the bravery to attend his execution. Not when she willingly abandoned him to this fate.

Mari sheathed her sword and started for the door. Her master was just killed, and tomorrow was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may or may not be the moment we've all been waiting for. I want to send out another thank you to everyone for nearly 1k views on this fic! Yuuri sends his regards <3


	6. Lethologica of the Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting revelations are made this chapter. I hope you enjoy the drama; it's a tad longer than most others.

That night, Yuuri stood before the house, exhausted mentally. For a moment he simply waited there, looking at the front door and the dusty windows and derelict wood that painted this house as so innocuous. Passing it by, one would think a homely old couple lived here, spending their time in tranquil quiet; one would not suspect a pair of necromancers housing their ungodly creature of an assassin. In the quiet night, Yuuri could almost believe that the former was true. But there was still blood on his sword.

He pulled himself from his thoughts just as he heard movement from the bushes that led into the forest beside the house. Instinctively, he rested his hand on the hilt of sword; he didn’t expect trouble, but he could never be certain. What he saw instead shook him harder than any assailant or wild animal could.

It was his kitten.

Yuuri shook his head, no he watched the poor thing die, choking on its blood when its throat was slit. Was it perhaps one of its siblings of the same litter? Yuuri knelt, holding his hand out as he beckoned the poor thing over, and it padded over with enthusiasm. And his fears were confirmed. There was a long scar unlike any wound Yuuri had seen; it looked like something that belonged on a dead animal. It was as if the wound was suspended in a form of decay, exposing the muscle, tissue, and bone that ran down the cat’s neck. That wound looked gruesome and deadly, yet the cat rubbed against Yuuri’s hand affectionately and lively. He could hear a strange, off rumble, as if it was trying to purr.

Sadly, Yuuri couldn’t find the energy within him to be shocked. After seeing their horses, and after the two had displayed to him time and time again that they were nothing but monsters, this might as well have been inevitable. Perhaps she had done it simply to spite him, perhaps not. Whatever the case, he hated her more.

“You too, hm?” He asked wistfully.

All too soon the front door banged open, but Yuuri did not rise and turn to greet Lilia. The cat stiffened at the noise, regarding Lilia with a hostile hiss before scurrying off.

“If you’re still alive,” She stepped out of the house, until Yuuri could see her shoes from his view. “I take it you used it?”

“Used what?” He asked, but she tapped her foot impatiently.

“Don’t act coy with me; _your sword_.” She pointed towards his waist, where it lay sheathed. “That sword is designed especially for mage knights, infused with mana to bolster its strength. If you could not figure out how to wield it properly, Carteneau’s knight would have slaughtered you.”

“I used it.” Yuuri said.

“Obviously you did. I doubt you’d even be able to escape without besting one of them. How did it feel?” She began to pace, and Yuuri felt a twitch of annoyance.

“I…I’m not sure I can describe it.”

“It’s a simple question but allow me to rephrase it; do you feel more power? More strength than when you were alive? I spent days pouring magic into your new life, I would want to see it pay off.”

Yuuri shook his head, still unsure of what to tell her.

“I don’t have very many memories from when I was still alive.” He explained. She stopped walking and sighed.

“No matter. Time will tell. The day I’ve been waiting for is very near.”

It took a moment, but it clicked in him before she began speaking again.

“Spring is drawing to a close, and on the eve of summer the capital begins its festivities. Guards from the castle shall be too preoccupied with the city to attend all of their forces to the capital. The prince will be sheltered within the castle, yet he will be at his most vulnerable. That is when we strike.”

“Already…” Yuuri whispered to himself, and an unprecedented sense of unease filled him.

“I do not wish to dawdle in this sad excuse of a country for longer than I need to. Once the prince is executed, we withdraw at once and let our plan continue.”

“How exactly does killing the prince help you?”

Lilia responded with a laugh. Yuuri looked up to see her staring off into the distance hills, eyes alight with something alarming.

“Cogs and pieces are already in place. Once the prince is eliminated, those pieces will turn, and this country will fall. The how is none of your concern.”

\- - -

A few days had passed since Viktor saw his father, but he already knew the old man was avoiding him; he had been ever since that night when his marriage was announced. But Viktor was nothing if not stubborn.

“Ah good morning, Your Highness!” One of his father’s advisors bowed deeply as Viktor rounded the corridor outside the tactic room.

“Do you know where my father is?” Viktor smiled warmly, though he was quick to cut to the chase.

“Your father is preoccupied at the moment, Your Highness.” The advisor said nervously, eyes glancing to the room behind him.

“He’s in that room, I take it?” Viktor thumbed the letter in his hands idly.

“Yes, and I suggest—Your Highness, wait!” The advisor called after Viktor as marched past him and threw open the door. There, seated at a table with a map of Atleaus and its neighboring nations was his father, discussing heatedly with his advisors until Viktor came in. His father’s expression of shock quickly changed to that of exasperation when he saw it his simply his son.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, Viktor?” His father asked with a wry humor.

“I take it you aren’t busy, then?” Viktor asked in an equally sardonic tone. His father scoffed disapprovingly, shaking his head as his advisors muttered their concern.

“Quite busy.” His father picked up a tiny replica of a house which had been placed on the map. “Lord Carteneau was assassinated last night.”

“Assassinated?” Viktor asked with genuine shock. His father nodded solemnly before setting the piece back down in its place.

“The feat was orchestrated by one of our noble houses, of this we’re sure.” One of the advisors spoke up.

“How do you know?” Viktor asked. His father’s advisors looked to the king for permission, and he nodded.

“One of our knights had a run in with a mage knight. It could only have been orchestrated by someone with access to a mage from our royal army.”

Viktor grimaced at the word, but bit his tongue to hold back his remark at the irony. Father’s own hypocritical weapons biting him on the hand; it was nearly theatrical. Viktor held his tongue nonetheless.

“How… unfortunate.” Was all he said in response, and his father eyed him carefully.

“Alas, you needn’t worry about your fiancée; she was widely unharmed.” The king said.

“ _Alas_ , I didn’t come here to talk about that.” Viktor said with a false grin.

“Oh? Then again I ask; to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Viktor crossed the room, letter and petition in hand, and presented to his father. From his chair, the king eyed the letter and his son with equal suspicion as he unfolded it and read its contents. His father sighed deeply.

“Viktor,” His father reached beneath his crown to rub at his temples. “When you pick at an old wound, it will only fester.”

“A reevaluation of the facts from an unbiased source; that’s all it asks. And, perhaps, listen to the people who were closest to…” Viktor trailed off at his name, not wanting the reprimand of ‘speaking the witch’s name’ once more.

“Oh, such as his family?” The king asked with a laugh. “Viktor, have you forgotten what happens to a witch’s family?”

“You… You didn’t!” Viktor felt a spike in anger, dropping his façade of the collected and warm prince. His father seemed genuinely surprised at his son’s outburst, and he simply stared on thoughtfully while Viktor seethed his contained rage.

“Would it make you happy,” His father said, finally. “To know that his family yet lives?”

Viktor’s anger waned to surprise, then confusion. So his family was safe?

“Yes…” He admitted. “It would.”

“Then have this solace.” His father closed his eyes.

“If they live, then let me speak to them. Just once, I ask that you—!”

“Enough, Viktor. Talking to them will not undo what has been done. It will further your delusions of love from a curse that still lingers.”

“That’s your go to explanation any time I ask, isn’t it? It’s always the curse—never anything else.” Viktor challenged, just barely able to hold malice back.

“You make me weary, more often than not.” His father said, sounding at his wit’s end. Suddenly he stood from his chair, and walked past Viktor with swiftness, until he came before the room’s fireplace.

“If this,” He held up the petition. “Was all you came to deliver, then I believe you’ve wasted both of our time.”

Viktor stood for a moment, staring down his father from across the room. His father held the parchment dangerous close to the flames, and Viktor dared him to do it without opening his mouth. With his eyes alone, he bade him to make the first move. His father narrowed his eyes before lifting the parchment and setting it down on the mantelpiece, using a small item as a paperweight. Viktor smiled, before he crossed the room and headed towards the door. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

“I love these conversations we have.” He called out cheerfully as he stepped outside. He let the door close behind him, noting offhandedly the single knight outside the door. He recognized him as someone from his personal retinue; his helm was removed, and the short mop of blonde hair gave way to turquoise eyes. Viktor nodded once before walking in the direction of his room. He could probably hear all that went on behind those doors.

“I know of a Katsuki who is a knight.”

Viktor stopped walking.

“She works for Carteneau. Well, she did before he was murdered.” The knight behind him continued speaking. Viktor slowly turned to face him, eyes wide in surprise. “She’s a mage knight.”

“A mage knight?!” Viktor kept his voice in a whisper, for fear of being heard. So many questions and fears roared through his mind, and he feared he misheard until the knight nodded once, face stern.

“Where… is she? I want to speak to her.”

“I could pass along an invitation to her, if you’re willing to go behind your father’s back.” The knight smiled. “And for a bit of incentive.”

He lifted his gauntleted hand, pinching his forefinger and thumb together. Viktor nodded his understanding.

“I have valuables you can sell.” Viktor offered.

“I need coin. A knight working in the castle looks far too suspicious when he’s selling jewelry and clothing. Cold hard gold.”

“Fine! Whatever you need, it’s yours. I’ll pen a letter for you to deliver to her.”

“I want to be paid first.” The knight said, crossing his arms.

“Also fine!” Viktor of course had a small king’s ransom of his own from various allowances. It was a pity it had to go towards brokering a deal with a shady knight.

“And one more thing; You didn’t hear this from me.” The knight said as he walked ahead. Viktor followed cautiously before speaking.

“Why are you helping me?”

“I’m not helping you.” The knight said. “Sorry, Your Highness, but being a knight doesn’t exactly pay well. And I’ve got a sick sister to look after.”

“I’m… I’m sorry to hear that, but I understand…” Viktor said quietly, but the knight in front of him let out a sigh.

“No, you really don’t.”

\- - -

Yuuri spent the rest of his night in his room; every night he would go there and wait, scarcely sleeping. He would try to recollect thoughts, but with very little points of reference to start from, it was difficult to obtain anything. He would wait until just before dawn when Lilia would come for him, and come for him she did. But something was wrong; she was angry and insistent as she walked in.

“With me, we don’t have time to waste!” She came into the room, hardly glancing at Yuuri as she pushed aside a chair.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asked as he was forced to his feet.

“There is no time for questions, quickly, in here.” Beneath the chair she had moved, Lilia was opening some kind of trapdoor. Yuuri wasn’t aware this ramshackle house had a basement, let alone a trapdoor, but he acquiesced silently. Once he was inside, the door slammed shut, leaving him in darkness. He heard the shifting of the chair as it was moved back in place.

There were footsteps above him, but no voices. Yuuri could not see a thing, but as he felt his way around he found that the area of this basement was huge but damp; it must have covered the entire area of the home. His eyes eventually adjusted to the darkness as small lines of light leaked from the floorboards. Time passed, but soon he could hear noises. He could just barely hear the ringing of a bell accompanied by the whinnying of horses, and then the knocking at the front door.

“One moment!” Lilia’s voice rang through the house in a tone he had never heard her use before. He heard the door above him open.

“My, what brings you to our humble home?” Lilia asked, with a purposeful waver to her voice that made her sound much more fragile than she really was.

“Hear, hear, madam. We come on behalf of our king to report the untimely death of our Lord Carteneau.”

“Heavens above, that’s terrible.”

Yuuri held in the temptation to scoff. Her act was nearly believable.

“Is there anyone else within the home? I’m sure you won’t mind us having a look around.” Yuuri heard the man above ask.

“Why certainly not, you’ll only find my husband resting in our room; he’s quite sick you see.”

“We’ll mind our manners,”

Yuuri heard heavy clanking footsteps above him, two pairs; knights, surely. When he heard them approaching the room he was hiding in, he held his breath as the door opened.

“I take it your children have long left home.”

“Like birds, they all leave the nest eventually. You’ll find that my youngest son works the stalls in town.”

“Does he now? Have I heard of him?”

“Georgi?” She asked.

“Ah, I know him!” The other knight spoke now. “A merchant is a fine way of life, more often ‘an not. He spoke of his parents getting old in age once or twice, but I didn’t think I would have the pleasure of meeting you.”

“Oh, you honor me!” Lilia had the knights under her thumb now; she’d won her feigned innocence and their trust. Yuuri listened as they made their way out of the room, and their footsteps receded towards the back of the house. All was quiet as they exited out into the backyard, and Yuuri had thought they’d left until he heard the clanking metal footsteps once more.

“Please pardon the intrusion, ma’am, but we can hardly take any risks with a killer running loose.”

“Oh, hush now. Surely you two can sit for a cup of tea and some bread? Kindly knights like you must be tired.”

“Tea you say?”

“Ahem,” The second knight cleared his throat, and Yuuri heard a clang of metal. “No, my comrade and I must continue with our duties before the day grows too late. But your hospitality is most appreciated.”

“Anything for our king.” Lilia said with a honeyed tongue. Yuuri nearly gagged.

After passing their farewells, Yuuri heard them exit finally. The bells chimed once more, but this time they were followed by the galloping of horses. Silence passed, before Lilia made her way to Yuuri’s hiding place.

“You can come up now.”  She opened the hatch, and light flooded down. Yuuri braced his eyes as he climbed out.

“The king seems highly inclined to find his assassin.” Yuuri heard a voice from the hall, and saw Yakov stretching awkwardly.

“He puts on a show for his nobility. He suspects it was one of them, but he refuses to make a claim outright.”

“And yet still I wonder.” Yakov commented off handedly.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Not here,” He glanced briefly at Yuuri, and Lilia nodded in understanding. The two of them left the room, locking the door behind them. Yuuri waited for a brief moment as a devilish idea hit him. The chair that had been above the trapdoor was still set off to the side, so it was a small thing to carefully lift the door and drop down inside. From there, he followed their footsteps until they were surely inside their room.

“Killing the prince is a priority, but if the king yet lives he may become more active in his son’s untimely death.” Yuuri heard Yakov’s voice first, with a restrained worry in his tone.

“Not this again,” He heard Lilia scoff at him. “He is failing in health, no matter how well he hides it with opiates and medicines. He will not live long.”

“But kill him and eliminate any semblance of leadership. The empress need only put her foot in the door.”

“We haven’t the means to assassinate both the king and the prince. Where the prince is heavily guarded, the king’s retinue is entirely that of mage knights, if our sources are to be believed. Not even to speak of abandoning our previous planning.”

“The nobility will still fight amongst each other, skittering for the throne like flies to the flame. But no one will be there to guide them in the flurry, is it not—”

“We stick to _my plan_. Need I remind you that we don’t have the freedom we once had? We’re still considered exiles unless we can turn this nation on her head. The prince must be killed first.”

“You stubborn woman, of course I agree with you! We kill the prince first and foremost, but why not take the king’s head later on, while the nation is still reeling?”

Lilia was silent for a moment, likely in thought.

“How hopeful of you. Will the king not be guarded even closer?”

“If this sad excuse of an assassin of ours can kill the prince, he can at least make an attempt at the king as well.” Yakov pointed out.

“Perhaps… yes, even with the king dead, the nobility will still fight amongst each other as to who shall claim the throne.” She said this pensively.

“I’ve already said that.” Yakov sighed, and Lilia clicked her tongue.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner, then?” Lilia asked.

“I’ve been trying, but _Lilia Baranovskaya_ can never be wrong, can she?”

“Don’t you start with this, you…”

Yuuri retreated back towards the trapdoor, as it seemed anything of interest had already been said. So they wanted to kill the prince in order to upset the balance? The king had no other heirs or close relatives, so it was likely there would be a war of succession. The Gaian empire could easily take advantage of them in their weakness, with the country split into warring sides.

_But none of that matters to me_ , Yuuri thought idly as he climbed into his room. He felt no particular allegiance towards his nation, nor did he sympathize with Lilia and Yakov’s plight. In the end, he only wanted to regain his memories and find out who he was. Seeing Viktor would help with that, wouldn’t it?

Simply thinking the prince’s name sent a shiver through Yuuri that his anxiety returning, like a knot in his stomach. He should be happy he’d be killing the prince soon; seeing his face might bring back some of his memories. This shouldn’t make him nervous. It was another life he was going to take, and now that he’d had experience, there was no need for him to get cold feet. He could distance himself from taking lives. Yet somehow, the thought of taking Viktor’s life was impossible to distance himself from. It was impossible to imagine Viktor as a random stranger who he could kill with no strings attached. Why was that?

Yuuri closed the trapdoor and idly sat down on his bed, moving his cloak, which had been lying over the bedsheets haphazardly, onto the headboard. He tried to remember what Viktor had been like in his past life. He brought forth a funny feeling in his chest and stomach, and something akin to nostalgia. But he couldn’t even conjure up the prince’s face. It was all drawing a blank.

“Damn it all to hell.” Yuuri whispered to himself softly. Every attempt to clear his mind ended up with more questions. He wouldn’t think too hard on this—he was an _assassin_ now. He had to learn not to get caught up in his emotions at some point.

\- - -

Mari always felt imposing in her armor. People stepped aside, bowed, cowered in fear—they did _anything_ to get out of her way when she was walking past. She felt like she was wearing a costume and fooling the normal people—once she had been a simple, plain girl. Though she’d resisted marriage she did not stand out as the Katsuki’s eldest daughter. But in the armor, she was a faceless knight. She had a title and a rank—though she was amongst some of the lowest in the mage chivalry. The black armor signified she was a member of the royal guard, though not many knew of her special… abilities.

Outside of the armor, in her knight’s livery, she felt like boring old Mari. Even on horseback, none paid her much attention as she made her way through lower residential areas, where horses were more frequent.

Mari had been no genius with the sword, but she had been determined. In the months following her brother’s death, she had trained herself day and night with the longsword. Many times she had pushed herself until she passed out, but she kept treading forward until progress had shone. If she couldn’t represent herself with the sword, the king promised he would execute her. He claimed he offered this because she was a pitiful thing, begging for her life. Now she had to redeem her worth. But she fought with the sword not to serve this wretched nation, but to honor her brother’s name. The redemption she sought was not for the king, but for Yuuri. It was the most she could make of her situation.

The morning was cool, but hinted at warmer weather, Mari noted as she rode her way across the city. She was no noblewoman; she rode the horse with a saddle, and her horse had livery with the nation’s colors. And she did not come for leisure, she had visits to make.

Mari stopped before the unmistakable church house—one where she had spent many long days of her childhood. Quickly she dismounted and tied the reigns of her horse to a nearby post before entering.

The room was empty as she made her way to the first pew. She sat and clasped her hands, looking down at her feet with her eyes closed.

“Lo, noble knight, what brings you to our humble church?” A voice called out to her after a few moments of silence, and Mari sat up and offered a tired smile.

“It’s only me, Minako.” She said before being greeted by her mentor’s warm smile.

“I knew it was you. Still, I can’t get used to seeing you in that suit. You look like a politician, damn near. You’re not the tiny Mari who used to bake bread with me anymore.”

“That girl grew up a long time ago.” Mari shook her head.

“I know. I still miss those times.” Minako sat down on the pew next to Mari. She looked up to the painting of the patron saint, eyes wistful for a moment.

“Your parents miss you. They told me to tell you that they love you dearly.”

“Here, give them this; tell them to sell it.” Mari quickly remembered why she had stopped by. She reached down inside her livery and took out a long silver necklace with a blue jewel hanging from it.

“And where exactly did you get this?” Minako asked as she scooped the necklace into her hands.

“Lady Carteneau, my old lord’s daughter, gave it to me. She claimed that I ‘valiantly protected her estate,’ despite the fact that her father was dead. It means little to me, but it should be worth a shiny piece. It isn’t much, so it shouldn’t draw too much suspicion.”

“I’ll be sure to give them this,” Minako nodded before carefully slipping the necklace into one of her pockets. “I have some good news with me.”

Mari listened as Minako recounted her encounter in the royal castle—meeting the prince and all. She had even received his word that the king would see her petition.

“That’s… wonderful.” Mari knew she should be excited. It was a tiny victory, but it was a victory nonetheless. But she was reminded of her brother, and the night Carteneau was killed. She remembered his face, clear as day, stark in the moonlight. Seeing him had rattled her hard to the core, and she was ready to believe that she’d simply imagined his face—had mistaken it for another. But his scar still seared her memories.

Beheaded. When she heard he was killed, she had cried for days on end. Was his ghost coming back to haunt her?

“Is there something on your mind, child?” Minako pressed a hand to Mari’s shoulder in worry, but she shook her head and stood.

“No… I just need to be leaving is all. I came here on orders to report to the castle. It wouldn’t be smart to be tardy, now would it?”

“No, not at all. I fear our king’s brutality sometimes. The prince, however… seems different.”

“The prince is the reason my brother is dead.” Mari reminded Minako. The woman stood as well, expression empathetic as she nodded her head.

“I know, my dear, but try talking to him if the chance arises. We may find an ally within him.”

Mari couldn’t help her wry laugh.

“That’ll be the day, Minako.” She shook her head and set off towards the church’s entrance. “Tell my parents I… I love them. And I wish every day that I could still see them.”

“Of course. Stay safe, Mari.” Minako said with a wave.

“You don’t need to worry about me.” Mari nodded once before leaving.

-

Mari had only been to the royal castle once, but her previous stay was not an enjoyable one. In fact, she spent most of it crying. Yes, as she was saluted by the guards and led down the entranceway and into the castle, she was taken far aback by the whiplash. A captive to be executed one day, an honored knight a couple of months later. Funny thing, that.

“Filthy witch.”

Mari looked back at the knight who mocked her as she passed down the hallway. The retinue escorting her sneered back from behind their helms but kept apace. Average knights were all talk and no action despite their acclaimed animosity towards mage knights. It mattered little to Mari; right now her nervousness was set towards the door before her.

“Any idea why we’re here?” Mari asked her knights; they had been some of the same few that served with her under Carteneau, so Mari had trusted them enough to accompany her to the castle.

“No clue, ma’am.” One of the knights said as another knocked on the door.

“Presenting Lady Mari Katsuki!” The knight called through the door.

“You may enter.” A voice called it. Mari did not recognize it, so she continued to wonder who from the royal castle could have sent for her.

The doors opened to a posh conference room, adorned with paintings and vases of varying quality, and lounges and settees for relaxing and talking. In the center was a small knee-high table with trays of teacups on them, filled with a light green brew. Sitting on a chaise was a man adorned in royal colors, and a handful of knights stood behind him. The crown on his head and the youth in his appearance told Mari it was none other than the prince.

She hesitated for just a moment. A fire of anger sparked in her. But her rash thoughts died down before they got the best of her. She took off her helm and knelt in a bow, hoping the prince did not notice her hesitation.

“It’s an honor to be graced with your presence, your highness.” The words fell from her mouth rather than being spoken; they were flat and emotionless. It took so much effort to hold enmity from her voice.

“You may rise.” The prince said, and when she rose saw a warm smile on his face, as if he hardly noticed her demeanor.

“How can I be of service?” Mari asked. To her surprised, the prince waved to the knights behind her.

“If you don’t mind, I want to have a word with Lady Katsuki alone.” The prince smile to her retinue, and they bowed loyally before retreating into the hall. The prince held out his hand towards one of the settees and bade her sit. She obliged, though her guard was still high.

“Why not help yourself?” The prince gestured to the tea before her. Mari had been hesitant to reach for it; despite officially being a knight she knew very little of proper etiquette.

Carefully, she reached for a cup. Though she raised the cup, she merely wet her lips; she had no thirst from the anxiety in her stomach.

“I find that nothing calms me more than afternoon tea.” Viktor commented as he lifted his own cup and took a sip. Mari nodded her agreeance, though she was unsure of what to say next. A silence passed before the prince spoke.

“I do apologize; I called you here without thoroughly confirming your identity, the circumstances are a bit special. Your name is Mari Katsuki?”

“Yes.” She answered, though her confusion was raised.

“And your brother was… Yuuri Katsuki?”

“…Yes.” Now she understood what was going on. The prince had called her here to twist the knife further into her wound. Was this the ally Minako had told her to find?

“And you are a mage knight.” Viktor set down his teacup and clutched his hands together. Though the action seemed benign, his knuckles were white from the force.

“Yes, I am.” She answered.

“Pray forgive me; I just needed to confirm my fears for myself.”

“Your Highness, may I chance a guess as to why you’ve brought me here?” She asked suddenly, beside herself at the newfound audacity. The prince blinked in surprise, but he nodded once in acquiescence.

“You can speak your mind freely here.” He said, but she knew it was only a lie.

“Not too long ago, a priestess brought you our petition, didn’t she? You made yourself seem nice and amicable to her, but you knew that the petition calling for Yuuri’s innocence couldn’t be true if his sister was a dirty witch.”

The silence that followed told Mari that she had just made a grave error. She spoke far out of turn, but her emotions had been swelling for too long. She didn’t dare look up to make eye contact with the prince, but when the knights behind him made no move for her head, she continued.

“Yuuri was only my half-brother. I pleaded with the king to let Yuuri go and execute me instead. He spared my life and made me a mage knight, and I’d thought my brother’s life was saved. It’s not me you should be talking to; maybe ask your father why he continued to execute an innocent man!”

She heard the prince gasp, and chanced to look up. His face was blanched and his expression dropped from its noble façade of geniality to one of pure surprise. Mari’s anger and fear was boiling over like an unwatched kettle, and she felt tears strike her eyes as she continued her tirade.

“Th-that’s right! If you wanted to hear me condemn my brother, then you won’t get it! He was innocent, I tell you. I won’t stand for you and the king slandering his name anymore.”

Mari waited for her killing blow, for the knights to move towards her and skewer her where she sat. But they stood unmoving, nearly statuesque as the prince sat staring at her in wide disbelief.

“Can you…” He began, and Mari flinched, waiting for him to give the order to kill. “Can you tell me more about Yuuri?”

Those words were not what she had expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering perhaps bumping the rating on this fic up from M to E. That means I'm considering writing smut for this, and I want to know all of your opinions. Let me know if you feel like I should take this step, or I should keep it fluffy.


	7. It's Much Better to be Killed by a Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cause of Death: Love

“Summon it.” Lilia stood before him, holding a sword of her own crafted seemingly out of black shadows. Yuuri nodded, holding up the average-looking broadsword in his hand and began to concentrate on that cool, light feeling of magic flowing through him. It enveloped the sword in his hands with a dark radiance, yet it seemed to pale in comparison to Lilia’s.

“You call that a weapon?” She sneered at him and pointed her sword towards him. “It seems you barely put any effort into it. If that’s the sword you fought with, I’m surprised you’re still alive right now.”

Lilia lowered her stance and shook her head.

“The magic I used to bring you back should have bolstered your power! Were the rumors about you wrong?” She asked him, and Yuuri expected the question to be rhetorical, but she stared him down. “Nothing to say for yourself?”

He shook his head and shrugged. Lilia sighed before readying her sword and charging towards him, and Yuuri stepped forward to meet her sword in a clash. Their swords sung with an unearthly shriek, black against black, as Yuuri tried to hold his ground.

“Right now I mustn’t dwell; there is too much to worry about with the festival so near.” Lilia said once they broke away. “But what a disappointment you’ve been.

\- - -

Days went by since Mari met with the prince, but her doubts and uncertainties still clung to her.

_“Tell you what?” She had asked in utter surprise._

_“Please tell me about Yuuri. You were far closer to him than I was, and I never got the chance to get to know him as I’d have liked.”_

_“Is this…” Mari had clenched her hands into fists to keep herself from lashing out. “Is this some sort of joke?”_

_The prince had merely blinked at her in surprise, so she kept up her tirade._

_“First you murder my brother in cold blood, then condemn me to a miserable life at the whim of this kingdom, now you summon me in order to fawn over him like you’re still long-time lovers? This is madness, why do you have to mock us like this? Just let me live in peace—let Yuuri rest in peace. Stop pretending that you’ve ever cared about him.” She was saying to him in vain all of the things she wanted to tell his father; she knew the prince hadn’t been directly responsible for Yuuri’s death. Yet still he had the audacity to act as if they were still ‘lovers.’ It made her want to shout._

_The prince’s face when she said those last few words had been one of shock and hurt, but she didn’t regret it. She couldn’t—not after all she’d been through. It was selfish of her to think that’d she’d suffered even a fraction of what her brother went through, but if anything got under her skin the most, it was nobility feigning emotions to garner one’s sympathy._

_“What do you really want from me?” Mari had asked finally, after so many beats of silence. “Tell me what it is so I can leave.”_

_“What… do I really want?” The prince echoed before laughing. A feeling akin to rage had boiled within Mari in that moment._

_“I thought, perhaps, meeting you might bring the closure I so very wanted. That if I could talk to you, I could understand my emotions and sort out my feelings. But talking to you now, I’ve come to realize something; I just wanted to assuage my guilt. I wanted the easy path, the one that hurts less, but it’s just not the truth. I fell for a lie once, and I’m so ready and willing to fall for it again. But seeing how passionate you are, and how much you hate me… It’s so obvious that I’ve been nothing but a fool_

_“I only ever wanted to love Yuuri, but when the time came that my resolve was tested, I faltered. Deep down, I knew that it couldn’t have been true, yet I didn’t… I, I couldn’t…”_

_“You let him die.” Mari had said solemnly._

_For a very long time, there had been nothing but silence in the room. That was when Mari decided she’d had enough of this farce._

_“It’s an_ honor _to have been summoned by the prince. I’ll take my leave of you.” There was a sneer to her voice as she said it, and the prince said nothing in response, but she’d left hurriedly anyway. She didn’t want to struggle with this any longer._

Now, she stood in the barracks of the family she would be working for, making preparations for her next training session.  There was never any rest for the weary, much less a mage knight. Tonight would be her closest thing to a respite for a long time, as preparations for the spring festival began tomorrow. It felt odd living in the city once more—so close to her family and their sense of normalcy, but so far from ever reaching it. She could only work to forget with this sword in her hand, now.

-

“…but most of all, keep your patrols tight in the areas where we own buildings.” Mari’s new lord had told her group.

“Yes, sir!” She saluted to him, yet still the lord eyed her carefully.

“You… you’re the new knight, are you not?”

“Y-Yes milord.” Mari answered carefully.

“Hmph. Then I don’t suspect you’re familiar with the festival. Looters are common around this time. If any damage comes to my properties or to my estate, it will come out of your salary.”

“Yes milord.” She didn’t bother adding in that she’d grown up in this damn city, instead she saluted once more as he gave a satisfied harrumph.

“If you understand, then take your leave already. I have business to attend to.”

Mari’s squad bowed deeply as they left the congregation room, heading outside. The sun was still high in the sky, so festivities had yet to begin; right now was the time of preparation. The calm before the storm, as she liked to call it. Still, Mari and her group had to get used to their rotation.

“I’m wondering what stick is up that man’s rear-end.” One of her knights mumbled.

“Oh come now, he isn’t that bad.” She called back with a laugh.

“Ah, but I preferred Carteneau. His daughter was a dream. Why couldn’t we stay with her again?”

“She was sent to live with one of her relatives, and they didn’t have any open spots for knights.”

“A shame.” The knight tutted.

“Save your laments for another time. Now, I want the two of you to patrol around here…” Mari began doling out instructions for her squadron as they came across a theatre house, one of their lord’s properties. Nearby were many vendors and retainers setting up shop in preparation for the increased foot traffic that was sure to hit the theatre. When all was said and done, it came down to dishing out orders and making sure her squadron walked their routes. It hadn’t been as difficult as she suspected, but she was the one with the most work. Not only did she have to circle the entire entertainment district on foot, but she had to stop by and check on her squad every time she made a round. It won’t be too bad, she told herself—though her feet would be blistered by the end of the day. She made sure to rest her legs until the sun set and the streets began to fill. Around her, music began to fill the air as different plazas turned into outdoor ballrooms—for the nobility—and dance areas—for the more common folk.

Mari began to walk. Her path kept her on the lower districts and areas of the city, yet still she couldn’t help but to look up high towards the hills where her family’s home had been. They could see the entire city from their tiny windows and narrow streets. Would her mother and father be enjoying the festival tonight? During the last one, Mari had kept to herself, huddled away indoors while her brother followed suit. She shook her head and kept walking.

The sky was dark now, but the streets were lit up by lanterns and the occasional mag stone in a center plaza. Refuse and whatnot were already beginning to litter the street, and Mari knew it would be servants and slaves—those who probably couldn’t participate in the fun—who would be cleaning. Nevertheless, she had finished making her first round and came up to one of her knights who were walking between stalls, likely pretending to work.

“Minami!” She called his name and he jumped nervously before saluting her.

“Y-Yes ma’am! Don’t worry, I’m doing my job.”

“Good… I was just going to ask if there’s been any trouble.”

“Ah, no, nothing so far.” He answered with a laugh, and Mari hummed her response. But she was looking past him now, towards an alley just behind a bun vendor. She could’ve sworn she saw something—like a shadow moving wrong.

“Carry on then.” She walked past him and took a glance into the alleyway. As she suspected, there was nothing. She was jumpy from expectations—things were going too quietly. That’s what it was. She kept on walking.

\- - -

It was finally the day of the spring festival, but like all before, Viktor would spend it holed up within the castle. He’d stopped begging his father to join in on the festivities years ago, but still the call of the distant music and the unusual bright lights always marked his interest. This evening, Viktor searched out his father for a different reason.

The sun had almost slipped below the horizon, so the sky was still streaked with reds and oranges. Surely his father hadn’t left yet, Viktor thought as he left his quarters and set out into the hallway.

“Wait, your highness, I need to accompany you.” The knight who’d been standing outside his door rushed to keep up, and Viktor shrugged as he kept pace.

“If you can’t keep up, I don’t mind the alone time.” Viktor said as he waved his hand. The knight wasn’t someone from his normal retinue—he didn’t recognize the man at all—and Viktor wondered if perhaps he could give the older man the slip.

“I can’t allow that, I’m afraid. I need to protect you at all costs.” The knight said proudly, to which Viktor tutted.

“Oh my, how noble of you! I feel safer already.” Viktor laughed. “But it’s not as if anything is going to happen. Perhaps you can take it easy for a little while. My lips are sealed.”

“Well…”

Viktor was hopeful he’d convinced the knight to lay off, but right as he came to the stairs he caught sight of his father and his retinue.

“Father!” He called out and watched as his father sigh once Viktor began to descend the stairs.

“You should be in your room, Viktor, where it’s safe.” His father chided. “There won’t be nearly as many guards here as any other night.”

“Please, father, spare me. If someone wanted to kill me, my room wouldn’t protect much against that, now would it?”

“Viktor, please. I have business within the city, now if we’re done here I must take my leave—”

“But we aren’t done here. I need to speak with you for a moment.”

“Can’t it wait? Save it for tomorrow, I’m _busy_.” His father waved his hand and continued towards the door despite Viktor’s protests. He cursed as the door closed and he reached the end of the stairs. It was no problem, he told himself; he’s speak with his father in due time.

“Er, Your Highness? Should we not be getting back to your room?” Viktor’s knight asked as he began in the direction in one of the libraries.

“Hm… Nope! I don’t really feel like it, if you don’t mind.” Viktor responded with a smile.

“But your father said to—”

“Frankly, I don’t really care what my father says to do. He’s lucky I don’t march outside and get drunk right this moment. You needn’t fear of getting in trouble, he knows I hardly listen to him.”

“If you say insist, Your Highness. But slow down, and let me follow you!”

“If you can’t keep up, that’s certainly not my fault.” Viktor called back once he got to one of his favorite places to read. From the window, he could see the sky was dark, though still tinged with red where the sun was hiding. Tonight, like all the other spring festivals, would be boring, Viktor was sure.

\- - -

Tonight was the night that it happened. Yuuri knew this, and the nervousness that filled him at his core would not leave. Similarly to when he’d been tasked to kill the man Carteneau, Lilia and Yakov dropped him off near the outskirts of the city with only a location and a reminder of the prince’s name.

“The empire will rise once more,” Lilia had said to him. “Tell him those words before he dies. There needn’t be any witnesses.”

“Yes ma’am.” Yuuri said obediently before they left him. He looked to the backdrop of the royal city behind him and began to walk. Tonight was going to be a long one.

Yuuri came to the entrance of the city, and as he suspected he was met with toll gates and patrolling knights. Outside the city walls, he could see carts and people waiting to get inside.

“Please, you have to let me in—if I don’t deliver these wares my master will have my head.” Yuuri heard one driver beg.

“I’m sorry but the rules are clear; I cannot allow you entrance without a notarized writ.”

Yuuri ignored them, keeping back and to the shadows with his cloak drawn close. Could he perhaps scale the walls? He cursed Lilia and Yakov for leaving him here with no way to get in, but as he began to walk the perimeter of the city walls from the cover of nearby greenery—avoiding knights as they passed—he saw his opening; the overhanging balcony of what appeared to be an abandoned peasant complex. If he could only get a running start, he might have been able to climb up onto it. But he needed to bide his time near the bushes and forest and wait for the next set of knights to pass. As soon as the knights moved on, Yuuri made his move. His foot slipped on the jump, but in the end he managed to haul himself up and into the building. As he’d thought, it was an old rundown group. But what he’d initially thought was a balcony was actually a section in the wall that had been destroyed from the rotting wood. He wasted no more time taking in his surroundings as he made his way downstairs and slipped out into the busy streets.

The city was alive with vim and vigor as people danced and drank their cares away, and it stirred a familiar memory within him. Had he partaken in this in his previous life? It seemed hard to imagine himself dancing and singing and laughing with family and friends, but it was so familiar a thought that it must have happened. He could recall painting faces of laughter and happiness as they passed by, of the golden light of the city with a backdrop of stars. Where was this painting? He pushed the memories aside as he clung to the shadows of the dark alleyways. Most eyes did not follow the shadows, though he had to dodge the occasional drunkard throwing up or a knight making their rounds. As Yuuri made his way to the center of the city, he began to notice common folk and nobility alike trickling to a main plaza area.

There was a stage front and center, and Yuuri slowed his pace as he heard trumpets blare over the crowd, hushing their voices. The king was being announced, and from the looks of it he was going to give a speech. Yuuri wondered, briefly, if it would be possible to kill the king from where he was, but he dismissed the idea upon seeing his retinue not even a foot away, more guards than he could hope to take down on his own, magicked sword or no. Most of them, if not all, were likely mage knights. He kept moving.

Slowly and steadily he was making his way towards what could only be the castle—it was not hard to find. Near the outskirts of it, in the surrounding royal districts where the upper class lived, more knights patrolled, and guests and music grew scarce and scarcer still. He drew near to the gates, and there he saw two knights standing guard at the front gates. Again, he searched for a quiet entrance—but there were no buildings near the walls, nor any weak points or gaps. He would have to kill these two.

He could take them by surprise, Yuuri thought as he stepped from his hiding place and unsheathed his sword. Instantly, he began to summon the dark mist that engulfed his sword and charged forward.

“Halt! In—” Yuuri cut down the first guard before he could even draw arm his spear and was on the next in the blink of an eye. His sword felt unnatural, cutting through their metal armor, straight to flesh, yet it felt akin to swinging a stick through the air. It was fast, and whip-like, he thought as he skewered the next guard. Both of them were down, but he had to leave the area had someone heard the commotion. He quickly forced the gate open just enough so he could slip in and run for the front entrance. Funny, he felt like he’d walked down this front path before, and it hadn’t been an unpleasant memory. He suppressed the feeling as it came and tried the door. Locked, of course. Could he risk the noise and force the door open? No, he decided that he couldn’t. Thankfully, no one had found the guards yet, but he had no time to waste; he made his way quickly to one side of the castle, looking for an opening or balcony—something he could easily climb into. Then he saw his ticket; a window with a hooked lock. The inside was dark, so he took his chance and used his sword to shimmy up the lock and swing the window open. Just like that, he was inside.

He entered what appeared to be some sort of pantry, but the room was very cold. Quietly, he made his way to the door and listened for footsteps. When he heard none, he quietly stepped outside.

Yuuri was surprised to the find the halls scarcely lit and empty. He kept low to the ground nonetheless, hand on his sword, as he listened for sounds of life. Around the corner, he heard a set of footsteps moving away from him, and chanced a peek; a single guard making their rounds, it seemed. The outside had plenty of roving guards alongside the front gates, but the inside seemed to be lax with its patrols; would the prince even be in here? He understood the festival was in full swing, but something was not right about this. Yuuri kept moving, about to come across the main hall and make his way upstairs when he heard commotion coming from a room. He cursed and ducked for cover at an uproarious noise, but found that it was laughter.

“Again, again! Show us the dance!” Came a voice. He could see a crack of light through a doorway, and he slowly made his way forward to catch a glimpse. More than a dozen or so knights were gathered around in a common room, laughing and drinking while what appeared to be maids danced for them.

“Why, aren’t you eager?” One of the maids said with a laugh as she gestured to her companion.

_“Now, this is a tale of a maiden gone swimming,  
“For the heat in her legs ache with a brimming,_

Slowly, the dancing maid began to lift her dress as she danced around the room, much to the delight of the knights who egged her on ever more. That explained the lax guards inside. Yuuri ducked away from the room, as he did not see anyone aside from the maids and the knights, and made his way back towards the grand entranceway.

Right as he came to the stairs, he found himself in a stupor as he looked upon the architecture and paintings that adorned the wall—they all looked so familiar. He’d seen them before—of course he has. When he was with Viktor, these must have been a familiar sight. He took a deep breath and ascended the stairs, ignoring the marked familiarity that surrounded him with each step. He ignored the fact that there was a painting missing from the Nikiforov lineage.

The second floor was almost completely void of life, and Yuuri was growing worried as time moved on that a passing patrol would find the corpses. He made his way to the third floor, and felt his heart catch in his throat when he finally heard voices.

“Your Highness, the hour grows late; perhaps it’s best that we see you to bed?” An older voice sounded from a room nearby, and there was candlelight peeking from beneath the door.

“No, I don’t want to. You can see the fireworks perfectly from here. I don’t want to miss them two years in a row.” Yuuri heard another voice speak, and felt something inside him lurch. It was the prince—it was definitely the prince. This voice rang inside his ears like a bell trying to call back memories, and it was oh so recognizable. Yuuri gripped his sword, and for some reason his heart was racing. No, this was the perfect opportunity—there was only one other person. He could do this. All he had to do was go for the prince. He took a deep breath and tried to steady his hands. He wiped the sweat from his brow and stood before the door. Something inside him was clawing at him not do this and he couldn’t figure out why. He stood up and drew his hood further onto his head.

Yuuri kicked the door open.

He opened the door to what appeared to be a small sitting room, accompanied by bookshelves and lounges for relaxing. But this nuance was lost on Yuuri as he charged forward for the first living thing he saw. It appeared to be a knight, but Yuuri could not take him off guard as he wanted to. The knight already had his sword up, steel against steel, as Yuuri had yet to summon the blackness.

“I knew it! The most robust night of the year—you aren’t the first assassin to come for the prince’s head, and you sure as hell won’t be the last.”

The knight led Yuuri’s blow to his side, parrying it away expertly as he tried to strike for his blindside. He saw through this attack, having been victim to it many times over by Lilia, and used his momentum to duck into a roll and onto his feet.

“Allow me to guess; my fellow knights are down making merry with the maids, are they not?”

The man held his sword out, and as Yuuri expected, the blade was engulfed with a shroud of magic. It covered his sword with a blood red that pulsed and trailed color and magic, yet seemed to be a piece set apart from reality—something that looked unholy and unnatural. Instinctively, Yuuri summoned his own sword and held himself at guard.

“Well unlucky for you, you’ve come face to face with the most legendary knight in all of Atleaus, the most noble of men. My fealty to the king is unwavering, and I swear no allegiance to the magic that runs in my blood! Ho, fear not pitiful whelp, I shall make your death quick, as I am a merciful man. I have bested many the assassin, but allow me to give you the ease of mind of knowing a man of nobility will put your soul to rest. Yes, ‘tis I, Sir Cialdini of the—”

It was as simple as that, sword through the man’s chest as he talked on and on. The man sputtered, looking down to Yuuri’s blade buried to the hilt where his heart was, before looking back up and falling limp. Yuuri pulled his sword out, bloodless, and looked around the room. There, at the far end of the room and holding up a candelabrum was the prince.

Yuuri stepped forward, but then stopped.

He was about to open his mouth and parrot the words Lilia had told him to say and be done with it when he looked at the prince’s face.

His familiar face was like a beacon to his mind. He felt a rush of emotions swell within him—happiness, contentment, peace. But the strongest of them all was an overwhelming sense of love and adoration. He felt the flash of a memory—of sketching Viktor countless time, each time telling him that his works could never match his beauty. Yuuri held his sword up, causing Viktor to flinch as another memory of sitting with him under the afternoon, lazily drinking tea and sneaking small touches. A brush of the thigh here. A squeeze of the hand there. He remembered walking to the castle gates a handful of mornings, each day spent with longing, few though they were. He remembered missing every night he wasn’t with Viktor—an ache in his chest that hurt even now. The sudden memories were too much for him, and he had to clutch his head and center himself.

“Get _away_!” The world was flipped suddenly and Yuuri was lying on his back. It took him only a moment to realize that Viktor had pushed him down onto his back, and was kneeled over him now, holding down his chest, holding the candelabrum up threatening. Yuuri flinched, waiting for the strike to come, but it never did.

He heard the holder fall to the floor, the flames from it long extinguished.

“No… It can’t be…”

Yuuri opened his eyes upon hearing such a pained voice, and found tears plopping onto his face. Stark blue eyes, like the sky, were staring down at him, wet as the sea now.

“This is a dream… this is a dream, let me wake up. I can’t do this anymore…” Viktor began to repeat the words over and over, and Yuuri was at a loss of what to say. What could he say? He was so confused; everything he had known, his whole world and his renewed purpose, had been turned onto its head. If nothing made sense for him, what was it like for Viktor?

“You’re not real.” Gently, Viktor reached down to cup Yuuri’s face, and he had to gasp at how familiar it felt. His fingers ghosted over face, his nose, his eyelashes, down to his lips. “You’re not real and this isn’t fair.”

“Check the upper floors!” The sound of commotion broke them from each other. “There’s an intruder!”

In an instant, Viktor jumped to his feet, and was tugging Yuuri up by his arm.

“Here, with me!” He said in a hushed voice as he dragged Yuuri from the room. The latter was still in shock and awe, but conceded anyway as Viktor led him down the hall. It seemed as if they came to a dead end, but Viktor let go of Yuuri’s arm in order to feel at the wall. He was wondering what he was doing when suddenly a section of the wall swung open like a door.

“In here.” Viktor grabbed Yuuri’s hand and led him into the room before shutting the wall behind them. They descended the narrow staircase together before coming to flat ground. When they came to the next door, there were sounds and commotions outside, so Viktor held back. He turned to Yuuri and put a hand to his shoulder, backing him up before moving to open the door, and then closing it behind him swiftly.

“Prince Viktor! You’re alright!” One of the knights exclaimed in joy.

“Yes, I barely managed to escape.” He made himself sound winded, Yuuri noted. “My knight bade me to run for the hidden passage way while he fought the intruder off. I don’t know what’s become of him.”

“Please, Your Majesty, rest now. We’ll track down the assassin, but know that we will be outside your door. We will protect you!”

“You there, knight?” Viktor called out to one of the knights. A youthful voice responded, with just a hint of annoyance.

“Yes, Your Highness?” The knight asked.

“Seeing as you’re part of my retinue, I’d rather you guard my door.”

“…I see, very well.” The knight responded.

“Come now, before he escapes! Yurochka, we leave the prince in your hands.”

Clanging footsteps left the room, and all grew silent as another pair approached the door that hid Yuuri. With a flash of light, Viktor opened it.

“Come out now.”

“It…It’s him…” The knight, Yurochka, was still in the room, and Yuuri was about to panic until the knight shrugged. “Whatever, I don’t care. You’re paying me for this.”

“Watch the door for me.” Viktor called back, though his eyes were on Yuuri. “I want to be alone.”

The knight scoffed as he left the room, but he did so without another word. The door shut behind him, and the room went deafening quiet, save for the sound of Yuuri’s heartbeat.

They were alone now, with no barrier between them. Not even death could stop their reunion.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, did I scare you? :p
> 
> For now we'll play the rating by ear, though I've updated the tags to reflect this and one other thing ^^;
> 
> I want to thank everyone in the comments for their overwhelming support ;; w ;; thank you so much! It means more to me than you think. Expect a break from the drama next chapter while our two lovebirds catch up with each other. For every ten thousand words of angst it has to be balanced with a single chapter of fluff lmao. There is no rest for the weary.


	8. Calm Before the Storm (pt. 1)

“We as a people are at the threshold of peace. We waver between uniting lands or perpetuating the violence our ancestors once took part in. No more will our sons and daughters go off to give their lives in the name of a war of territory. Rejoice! At long last, peace between our nations! Rejoice!”

There was a cry of cheers throughout the city center crowd. The laughter and music resumed throughout the city center as the crowd dispersed and the king, Viktor’s father, walked from the center stage with a jovial smile on his face. The people needed to see him happy and carefree so that they, in turn, could live happy and carefree. They did not need to know his struggles, or the truth and reality of this war; that they were on the losing end and that many good men and women would die before this union could be finalized. Even while the king talked out peace treaties, his knights fought on foreign soil to stave off the Gaian Empire’s invasions. They died on foreign soils. He drank wine. They drowned in blood.

“Your Highness!” As the king descended from the stairs he was saluted by a knight. He waved his hand, calling the knight to stand down, and the man made haste in delivering his message.

“Milord there’s trouble within the castle, we need you there _now_.” He said, to which the king bade him to hush his voice.

“Quiet! What’s happened; is Viktor alright?”

“We’ve prepared a carriage milord, but rest assured that your son remains unharmed.” To this news, the king sighed in relief. If anything happened to his son, he would be devastated; all his hard work, his sacrifices for this nation would be in vain. Viktor was the necessary key towards ending this war without any more needless bloodshed.

The king climbed into his prepared carriage, surprised to find one of his advisors in the seat across from him. He greeted him silently as the horses set off.

“Waste no times with formalities or greetings,” The king spoke first when the silence dragged on for more than a few seconds. “I want to know what happened.”

“There was an assassin.” The advisor said. “Judging from the time at which he struck, this was premeditated. He waited for the festival to get into full swing, for security around the castle to lax. Your son was his target.”

“But he was unharmed; even if he managed to get inside the castle, what of my knights? Did they protect my son?” The king asked.

“No.” The advisor said, much to the king’s surprise. “A single mage knight was accompanying Prince Viktor, but that same knight was slain. The rest of the knights, who you had assigned tight patrols within the corridors and around the prince’s chambers and recreation rooms were not in their assigned positions.”

“Then where in the hell were they?” The king asked, dismissing at first the fact that one of his best mage knights was killed.

“Celebrating the festival with the other castle staff.”

The king raised his chin, face gone somber. At least now he knew how this assassin was let to escape, to even be allowed to enter the vicinity of his kin. Was fate trying to repeat itself?

“I’ll have their heads. While my son was toe to toe with an assassin, barely escaping with his life, my knights were drinking ale. I can only imagine the terror he must feel right now.”

\- - -

The door closed, and Viktor was left alone in his room. Well, almost alone. He stood staring at the door, too afraid to turn around in fear that Yuuri would be gone, like a memory, and that he’d imagined the whole ordeal. Another dream that would leave him breathless and disappointed.

He finally turned around.

Viktor let out a sigh of relief to find Yuuri staring at him firmly. His eyes were the same warm brown as he’d remembered him, and his hair was still short. He was missing his glasses, but as Viktor’s gaze trailed down Yuuri’s face, towards his neck, he couldn’t help but to gasp. Yuuri stepped back at his surprise, knowing that Viktor saw the horrific reminder that Yuuri was not the same; the ringed scar around his neck, where the axe was driven home, and his head had been dearly departed.

“This is a dream…” Viktor reached up and came just shy of brushing against Yuuri’s face. “This is a vivid dream, but I don’t want to wake up from it.”

Yuuri was looking up at him, his face a model of awe as he stared into Viktor with an almost frightening tenacity.

“No,” Yuuri reached forward to grab Viktor’s hands, and the latter couldn’t help but to jump at the mere electricity within his touch. Gently, Yuuri moved Viktor’s hands to his face to cup his cheeks. “This is real. I’m really here.”

“And you’ve come to kill me?” Viktor asked, thumbing over Yuuri’s cheek in the calm manner he’d done many times before. His tone held no fear—there was none to give. Instead, he asked as if he was simply referring to the weather.

“I did. I was sent here to assassinate you.” Yuuri answered, his gaze taking on a more wistful appearance. Viktor watched as his brow furrowed in thought, and he could only wonder what could be crossing his mind.

“Then I don’t mind. If it’s you, I don’t think I’d care even if you’d killed me. I’d rather be killed by a lover than by a stranger.”

Yuuri laughed, but it was a rueful and hopeless sound that brought a pang of pain to Viktor’s chest simply from hearing it.

“I don’t think I could ever bring myself to hurt you. I can’t. God, how could I have forgotten this face? How could I have forgotten this feeling? It was better to be ignorant of what I had before than to live in this twisted afterlife knowing what I left behind.”

Yuuri brought his wavering hands up to cover Viktor’s

“All this time, I thought you were my enemy. I thought you hated me—that’s what made it so easy to push my thoughts aside.”

“Hated you?” Viktor laughed at the mere possibility. “I could never bring myself to hate you. Not after all the pain I caused you.”

“Please, don’t blame yourself for what happened.” Yuuri pleaded. “It’s not your fault that—”

“But it is!” Viktor brought his hands away and stepped back, shaking his head. “I should have been there to support you, but I wavered in my indecision. In my false sense of security… I truly am a spoiled brat, aren’t I?”

He tipped his head back and let a laugh escape.

“I believed him when he said they were only questioning you. That they wouldn’t hurt you. Only to wake up in the dead of the night and find out, all too late, that you were being executed. I’m the one who needs to be sorry. And I am—please believe me when I say that I am. I want to devote every waking moment to make amends for my foolishness.”

“I almost forgot how dramatic you were.” Viktor could hear Yuuri take a step forward, and feel him gently pull his hands back. “But enough of that talk; I won’t have you berating yourself. Of course you’d be plagued by doubt when your own father claimed that I was—”

Yuuri abruptly cut himself off, and the warmth that was on Viktor’s hand disappeared. He turned around to find Yuuri standing stock still in shock, before an expression of confusion passed over his face.

“What’s wrong?” Viktor gently reached forward and tipped Yuuri’s head forward, meeting his eyes. He flinched as Yuuri brushed his hand away and took several steps back.

“…That I was a witch…” Yuuri put a hand to his head as he spoke. “You… you think that I’m…”

“Yuuri, I don’t care if you’re a witch or not, I—”

Yuuri put up his other hand to stop Viktor, shaking his head in dismissal.

“No, that’s not true! It was a lie… He used it as an excuse to execute me. I remember that day.”

“What day?” Viktor asked.

“My… memories… Most of them have been a haze since I woke up. I can never seem to recall anything without a trigger to help me. Seeing your face reminded me of the love I’ve always felt around you. I’ve never felt like I wanted to hurt you—not with magic or anything. I can’t even recall using magic. Yet I have a sword that proves otherwise. But I remembered the day your father came to me and told me to leave you alone or suffer the consequences. He accused me of being a witch, and I knew deep in my heart that he was wrong. And yet…”

“Your sword.”

Yuuri nodded once, biting his bottom lip as he looked up desperately towards Viktor.

“Please, I know I can’t expect it of you, but you have to believe me when I say that I was never a witch! I never tricked you. I… I’ve always loved you. And I want to keep loving you.”

“Of course I believe you.” Viktor said with unwavering resolve.

“Just like that? Despite the sword at my hip begging contrary?” Yuuri asked, his expression so ready and willing for disappointment.

“Yuuri,” Viktor let his mask of confidence slip for just a second, just the small choke in his voice, as he thought his next words. “I watched you die right before my eyes. I watched as… No, I _saw_ the life drain from your eyes. For weeks, I was never the same. I wanted to take my life and join you, but I thought it to selfish and cowardly. I should stay alive and suffer the consequences. But now here you stand before me, like a dream come to life. Like my prayers were answered. If I can believe that this isn’t a dream, and that you’ve truly come back from the dead, I’m willing to bet there’s an explanation. And I’m more than willing to trust you. It’s the very least that I can do.”

In a blur of whipping shadows the color of night, Yuuri threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around Viktor’s midsection, burying his face in his chest at the same time. Viktor staggered back for a moment, but caught him in his arms nonetheless, returning the hug with full gratitude. He could feel warm but ragged breaths against his shirt, and then the unmistakable wetness of tears.

“Please, don’t cry…” Viktor gently pulled Yuuri closer as he stroked his back. “How can I help? Please?”

He heard a noise from Yuuri, what he had mistaken as a sob at first until Yuuri pulled back with his face wet and red from crying, but a smile wide on his face.

“I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m just… I’ve never felt this kind of happiness. Just being near you makes me so happy.” Yuuri pulled his arms back to sniffle and wipe at his cheeks. Instead of returning them, he let his hands rest on Viktor’s shoulders. “ _You_ make me so happy.”

Viktor didn’t realize he was leaning down until he could feel Yuuri’s breath ghosting against his. Not until he could see those lashes, unhindered by glasses, brushing against flushed cheeks did his heart skip a beat. Gingerly, as if it were his first time kissing with Yuuri, he pressed in. It might as well have been his first kiss, for all the nervousness and tension building up in him. Ah, but the familiarity of Yuuri’s lips, soft and yielding against his own, let him fall into the rhythm that they’d only just begun. Everything about this—the way Yuuri fit in his arms, the slight tickle as he grasped his shirt, the barely audible moan as Viktor’s tongue flicked out to rub against his bottom lip—it all felt so natural. So _right_.

Viktor’s hands were combing through Yuuri’s hands as the latter bit against his lip, bidding him to act bolder. Viktor happily obliged, bringing Yuuri in closer as his tongue ducked into his mouth. Again, as if it was his first time in such a passionate kiss, he let his tongue brush and play against Yuuri’s as if this were new to him. As if he hadn’t done this countless times before. But he hadn’t forgotten Yuuri’s taste, nor the feel of his kiss.

It was Viktor that broke away first, parting from Yuuri with a deep breath. As he gazed upon Yuuri’s face—his blushed expression, lips wet and red, lidded eyes—he damn near forgot why he’d stopped kissing him in the first place.

“Here,” Viktor said gently, bringing his arms down to Yuuri’s arms and leading him over to the bed. He bade him to sit down while he moved about his room, floating on ecstasy, until he came back with a small bottle. When he’d turned back to Yuuri, he stopped in his momentum. He watched as Yuuri let the cloak around his shoulders, black as night, fall to the bed around him. Yuuri looked up to him then, and silently, he began to undo the buttons of his white blouse, and Viktor found himself rooted in place. Yuuri slid the shirt down, exposing his shoulder, and Viktor felt his breath catch in his throat once his shirt left his arms. There he saw, stark in contrast against Yuuri’s skin, the other half to his heart. Perfectly remembered, just as he’d remembered—red, with a half heart in the center. He was captivated.

“Wh-What’s wrong?” Yuuri asked in a bashful tone. Viktor shook himself mentally before joining Yuuri on the bed.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He said with a smile as he began to shrug off his own attire.

Again, before Yuuri, who he cherished more than he knew, he felt like an inexperienced young man fumbling to get to his first high. Yuuri helped him shrug off his vest and blouse, until his chest was bare and his arms exposed. Gingerly, Viktor took Yuuri’s hand and clasped their hands together, so that his right arm was pressed against Yuuri’s, and their combined marks created a completed heart.

“I love you,” Viktor said in a breathy sigh.

“I love you too,” Yuuri pulled Viktor forward with their intertwined hand, throwing his other arm around his neck as he pulled the latter down into another passionate kiss. Viktor pressed forward until Yuuri was lying against his bed. Again, it was Viktor that pulled away first, and he leaned over Yuuri, looking down at him and his backdrop of black, framed by his cloak.

_I don’t deserve this_ , he thought as he leaned down to press kisses all along Yuuri’s collarbone. There was some kind of catch—his happiness couldn’t come free.

He spent the night trying to chase away all the fears that plagued him by chasing ecstatic electricity that came with touching Yuuri. Every touch, every kiss, every moan, and every lick hid him from the truth that these moments were ephemeral. While he and Yuuri made love he could forget consequence and deny fate to wait another day, his consequences be damned.

Right now, he was too busy loving Yuuri.

\- - -

It was rare that Yuuri slept, but by this point he knew all too well what he would see when he awoke; the rotting wood of a cottage. He would feel the uncomfortable stiffness of a hay-stuffed bed and scratchy sheets. So he had every right to be surprised when he opened his eyes and saw lush red satin and elegant surroundings of the room he was in. Then it all came flooding in.

He sat up and took a cursory glance; sure enough Viktor was lying next to him, hands wrapped around Yuuri waist as he slept deeply. Looking down at his resting form sent a pang through his heart—a surge of emotion and adoration and awe. This was truly happening to him. He had almost come to terms with his fate as the mindless assassin with no will of his own. He was going to be fine letting the edges of his memories stay just there—at the edges, far away. It was so much easier to consider it another life far away from his own rebirth, but now that the reminder of his love, of Viktor, came hitting him he knew that he could not cast this away. He could recall Viktor’s face now, of his expression as he ran to the executioner’s block with hopeless sorrow in his eyes. And by god, there was so much more missing from his memories, and Yuuri had to uncover them.

Yuuri stood now and began gathering his clothes from the bed and floor as he began to look around the room. The sensible side of his mind told him that he should be working on escaping the room, but his emotional side bade him to stay, at least until Viktor woke up. He looked around the room and deduced that the armoire and bed would be suitable places to hide, and perhaps the secret path Viktor showed him if he had time. Considering the scene Yuuri had caused mere hours before, he would be surprised if Viktor’s door was not heavily guarded, but it was thankfully early enough that no one had deigned to wake the prince. Yuuri was used to waking when the skies had barely any light in them, and today was no exception.

Yuuri took another walk around the room, gawking at many things that stirred a feeling akin to nostalgia in him. It was simply exciting to him that so many things in Viktor’s room were familiar to him. He kept his inspection to whatever he could see; it would be too rude to go perusing through his dressers while he slept, curiosity or no.

…Though it seemed that Yuuri’s pacing about the room stirred Viktor. A groan from the bed had Yuuri turning around to face a yawning Viktor. The latter was propping himself up on his elbows and rubbing at his eyes, and his demeanor showed that his defenses were completely down as he sat up and stretched. It wasn’t until he opened his eyes that he took an alarmed expression, looking at Yuuri as if he were a ghost.

“God, Yuuri!” Viktor leapt from the bed—still extremely naked—and brought Yuuri into a deep hug. “I thought myself dreaming for a moment but it’s truly you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, it’s truly me.” Yuuri said, shushing Viktor as he returned the embrace.

“All this time,” Viktor began, pressing Yuuri even closer into his arms and nuzzling his face into his hair. “I had so many things I wish I’d have said. Now I get the chance to say them.”

“Things like what?” Yuuri asked, absolutely relishing in the warmth that Viktor radiated. Viktor pulled back slightly to face Yuuri, blue eyes lidded as he gently stroked his hand across his cheek.

“I love you.”

Yuuri was so taken aback by the suddenness of his declaration—the unwavering conviction and the expression that matched his words—that he couldn’t help but to gasp. He knew his face had turned dozens of shades redder, and the temptation to hide it was strong, but he returned Viktor’s gaze with a ferocity of his own.

“I love you too.” Those words meant a thousand to him, and for some reason, he had a feeling of contentedness wash over him. A love so strong—so powerful—that he knew, if faced with the choice, he would not hesitate to die for Viktor.

As if it hasn’t already happened.

\- - -

_Today was like any of the other days he visited the royal castle. Even as he made his way down the familiar path, like every time before, the same feeling of trepidation and anxiety filled hm._ Excitement _filled him. He would be fulfilling his initial employment—the reason that he’d even met Viktor. To paint the perfect portrait… To paint one suitable of royalty, but more so, a show of dedication to newfound love and his soulmate, was no small order. It was Yuuri’s own personal goal to make this a masterpiece, and though nervousness filled him, he refused to back down from his challenge. Not when he’d found such a strong muse._

_As Yuuri made his way to the doors, it was not the royal announcer who met him at the door, but a pair of guards._

_“Yuuri Katsuki, I presume?” One of the knights addressed him once he drew closer._

_“Y-Yes, that’s me.” Yuuri gave a slight bow and shifted his satchel up higher onto his shoulder._

_“Unfortunately your, ah, appointment with the prince must be postponed. His Highness the king requests and audience with you.”_

_“With me?” Yuuri echoed in shock. Despite his frequent visits to the castle, it would be his first official introduction with the king. He’d only scarcely ever seen the man from afar, let alone had a private audience with the man!_

_“I… I’m honored His Grace wants to speak with me.” Yuuri replied politely as the knights opened the entranceway and led him to an unfamiliar area of the castle._

_Finally the guards came to a stop on the opposite end of the castle and opened the door for him, gesturing him inside. Yuuri did not expect to come immediately face to face with the king—the man was sitting on a settee, hands crossed as if he’d been expecting him. Immediately, Yuuri bowed low at his waist, quick and low enough that he nearly fell over, and uttered out the most polite greeting he could._

_“Please, young man, be at ease. Seat yourself.” The king said. Yuuri complied with haste, gingerly seating himself across the king. Though there was tea on the table in front of him, Yuuri made no move for it, and it seemed like the king was not going to offer it. He smiled at Yuuri though—it was charming and disarming, a smile fit for a king._

_“Tell me, Yuuri, what do you think of my castle?”_

_“It’s beautiful!” Yuuri said with no small amount of tension, though he meant his words_

_“Remarkable, is it not? The Nikiforov line has kept these grounds up and running for generations. Tell me, what was the first thing you noticed when you came here. What immediately stood out in your first visit?”_

_Yuuri put a hand to his chin in thought, but it only took a second of thinking to remember what had stunned him on his very first visit._

_“The paintings—the royal portraitures that hang in the grand foyer. Portraits have always been a favorite of mine; they immortalize people.”_

_“Those paintings were all done by artistic geniuses of their time. My father’s by the renowned Guillard, and my own by the famous Hashimoto. It is only my son, in even his adulthood, who stands without a painting. Until now he brushed aside every artist who stepped forward and offered their brush. I wondered why he actively sought out your work until I saw it for myself. You have magnificent potential.”_

_Yuuri felt his face heat up at the outward praise—from the king himself—and indirectly, from Viktor. To have both the prince and the king praise your artwork, to be compared to artists of centuries past… it was far too gratifying for him._

_“Thank you… Your Highness. But I don’t deserve to be given such lavish praise from you.”_

_“Yet it is not given.” The king said, shaking his head. “You have earned it through skill no likely trained upon since youth. Painting my son’s portrait will garner you recognition, but why stop there? Why not take your career a step forward?”_

_“With… all due respect, Your Highness, I’m not sure I follow.” Yuuri said, to which the king smiled._

_“I wish to finance your career. I could see a profitable future for the two of us.”_

_Yuuri had to blink once—scratch that, twice. He simply could not believe his own ears; the king of all of Atleaus was offering to finance his painting career. This had to be a dream, but god, he did not want to wake up._

_“I have only one request of you.” The king said, bringing Yuuri back from his euphoria._

_“Yes, of course.” He said, struggling to prevent his excitement from displaying outward._

_The king took a deep breath and sighed before looking back to Yuuri with a steeled glare. All of the jubilation Yuuri had been feeling disappeared, and was instead replaced by the unease of pins and needles._

_“This relationship—this infatuation you have with my son must come to an end. He is a prince, and though you display great skill, you descend from peasants. My son is an idealistic dreamer, he cannot live with his head in the clouds free to chase anything but his responsibilities. You and I are sensible people; surely you understand that the prince of a country must marry and make ties that have true meaning. But so long as you entertain these whimsical notions of a soulmate with him, our country will be led astray.”_

_Yuuri sat back, shocked and unable to say anything. What could he say in response to this—there was no dancing around it. The king was basically providing an ultimatum._

_“I… I believe that maybe I should speak to Viktor about this. If I could only—”_

_“Absolutely not.” The king shook his head and sighed once more. “My son is stubborn. You must be the one to reject him, not me in your place. I require your answer now.”_

_His feet felt cold and weightless, as if they weren’t there. And his mouth was dry. Could he very well refuse the king when he made an offer? But could he very well refuse his soulmate._

_He though to the mark on his forearm, to all of the legends and myths that surrounded it; to bedtime stories and happily ever afters and to wistful dreams as a young boy. He thought to when he found out the sobering truth—that he was probably live and die never knowing who held his other half. Then, he thought to the surprise and utter happiness—tinged with relief—when he saw Viktor’s mark to the first time. To all the moments of nervousness of every meeting after—that Viktor would not like him or vice-versa—to gaining a familiarity around him and to realizing he was in love. He could not very well refuse this feeling._

_“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” Yuuri stared at his clasped hands, unable to meet the king’s eyes._

_“But_ this _situation…” He nodded down to his forearm. “I would be a fool to ignore it. Not when I’m so happy with Viktor. I’m going to have to refuse your offer.”_

_“I see.” The king said, and for a moment Yuuri was relieved; there was no anger or displeasure in his voice. Yuuri was about to breathe a sigh of relief until the king spoke again. “At arms.”_

_There was the sound of metal weaponry moving and armor clinking, and before Yuuri could even gasp in surprise there was a spear pointed towards his throat._

_“I thought we could settle this peacefully, but I see a measure of coercion needs to be taken. You’re just like my son, aren’t you? You would rather chase ignorant ideals than remain in security. You are the kind of man who would choose to fall in love and die than to live and prosper. Viktor is the same way. Were it not for my guiding hand, he would be dead by now. You are foolish to deny such a gratuitous offer, so I will only allow you one last chance to answer.”_

_The room filled with deafening silence, and Yuuri’s head was rushing with thoughts, fast enough to explode. He should just accept and be done with it—it was as he said. It would be foolish to die here._

_It would even more foolish to attempt to run._

_And for a moment, Yuuri thought he could make it._

_He was out of his seat and over the settee before the guard with his spear drawn could apprehend him._

_He had his hand on the door handle right as the guard was shouting an alarm._

_But he was pinned to the ground by steel gauntlets and unforgiving sollerets before he could even open the door._

_He had just enough time and sense to turn his head back and see the glint of steel as a spear was raised high in the air, ready to skewer him where he lay. Time was moving in slow motion, but all too soon the polearm was making its arc downward._

_“Wait,” The king spoke, and suddenly everything stopped. Yuuri could breathe again as relief filled him like it was air._

_“Killing you here and now, I would never hear the end of it.” The king cleared his throat, and Yuuri hoped for a moment that his life would be spared._

_“Yuuri Katsuki, painter and peasant, you are hereby under arrest for witchcraft and conspiring against the prince.”_


	9. Calm Before the Storm (pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How touching. But all good things must come to an end.

The king rose with the sun—not too early for a man his age, but early enough that he could fit many things within his schedule. First on his list today was to checkin  on his son’s welfare. While he did _not_ loathe speaking with Viktor, it was more often than not an… ordeal. It was that he loathed his son’s defiant demeanor. Suffice it to say, he took his time with his morning routine.

“Good morning, your highness.” One of his assistants bowed deeply once he stepped from his chambers and he nodded once in acknowledge.

“Run me through today’s schedule once more.” He said as they began to walk, his retinue of knights close behind.

“Certainly. Of course, after your appointment with your son, you have…” The assistant began to drone on, reciting the list and the king began to tune her out. They were almost to his son’s floor, anyway, and he was mentally steeling himself for whatever drama his son had prepared for him.

“And for tonight, your attention is required for—”

“That will be all.” The king said once he was on his son’s hallway, raising his hand to cut off the assistant. The assistant subsequently bowed and made her leave, and the king turned the corner to spy two of his knights outside his son’s door. They immediately tapped their spears and saluted, and the king nodded once as they stood aside and opened the door.

The door opened to the ever familiar sitting rooms that adorned any of the master bedrooms of the house. They were like mini-lounges, their one purpose to give warning to whatever royalty lay in the doors beyond; a tiny bell rang throughout the room, signaling the king’s arrival. An assortment of shuffling noises came from Viktor’s chambers, followed by him calling for a few more moments. Patiently, the king sat down in one of the chairs, and a few moments later Viktor appeared in the doorway of  his room, still adorned in his night clothes.

“Why good morning father. I do appreciate the early wake up call.” Viktor said as he leaned against the doorframe. His father did not bother to point out that Viktor already seemed wide awake, instead he merely gestured to the seat across from him.

“Please, have a seat my son.”

Viktor regarded him silently for a moment before stepping into the parlor. He took one wary look into the room before closing the door behind him and sitting down.

“I’m flattered that you would take time out of your busy schedule to talk to me…” Viktor said, and although it was sarcastic there was a hint of suspicion laced in as well.

“Nonsense! You are my son and I worry for your well-being. ‘Tis a simple thing to plan around you.”

Viktor hummed his acknowledgement, but said nothing more. Instead he gazed on with a smile on his face but impassiveness in his eyes. The king had lived a long life and knew this expression very well—one that emissaries, representatives, and monarchs wore when they were scheming. He did not like this look on his own son’s face. It unnerved him.

“Regardless, an apology to you is in order.” The king said.

“You’re apologizing? To _me_?”  Viktor asked, his expression shifting to one of genuine surprise.

“Yes. The carelessness of the knights I myself appointed nearly cost you your life. These were knights that I had seen trained and vetted thoroughly, yet they allowed an immense threat to slip so close to you. For this, I am truly sorry. It is one matter to allow an assassin to slip past our gates, but to not squash them once the rat dares to enter our home? Unthinkable.”

The king shook his head in disappointment. He had intentionally kept most of his patrols on tight shifts inside the castle rather than outside. Some of his best knights—who should have been standing guard and moving about the halls—had been celebrating with maids and cooks who acted no better than playhouse whores.

“I can only thank Sir Cialdini, rest his soul, for giving his life and aiding you in your escape. One of my best mage knights at that. He will be deeply missed. A memorial is planned for him in the upcoming month, and I shall see that both of us attend. Until then, however, I must see to an appropriate measure of punishment. I have half a mind to behead all of them!”

“You don’t need to act so hasty.” Viktor spoke up. “Their relaxation was inevitable. The castle has been quiet for some years now.”

“That is no excuse.” His father replied curtly. “We must remain strong, we must tighten our resolve.”

The king paused and looked back at Viktor’s discerning eyes.

“Need I remind you of your mother?” He spoke softly, but his words got a reaction out of Viktor nonetheless. He flinched—a brief flash of an angered expression—before he returned to his emotional mask.

“Of course _not_.” Viktor said through clenched teeth. “ _That_ has nothing at all to do with _this_.

“Assassinated by none other than someone close to her. Her courtesan.” The king said in a calm yet wistful manner, but his expression quickly turned sour. “By someone who claimed to be—”

Viktor stood, and a deafening scraping of chair against floor filled the room.

“My, my, how the morning has escaped me.” He stretched nonchalantly and looked around the room. Indeed, the sun was peering through the windows with intensity, but the king knew his son to be far from a morning person.

“And how it’s escaped you too. It would be a shame if you never got to your most important duties. You are a king after all. You don’t need to fret over me.”

With a smile as sunny as the room, Viktor made a shooing motion with his hands. The king sighed, sitting still for one moment before rubbing his temples and standing.

“I trust you want your breakfast sent upstairs? You should honestly join me in the dining—”

“You know me so well.” Viktor said. The king nodded in acknowledgement before waving his retinue to follow. That was how most of their conversations ended nowadays—bitter, and with many unpleasant things unsaid. But it was for the best and, nevertheless, the petty emotions of his little family were trivial at this point. At this point, he was doing a favor to the kingdom—he could not let emotions ruin his ambitions. Not like Viktor did. Not like his wife did.

\- - -

Viktor watched in stewing rage as his father left the room. He couldn’t let his father finish that sentence, but in his hastiness he didn’t get a chance to confront his father the way he meant to. It was inevitable that his father would find a way under his skin. His mask could only hide so much.

But his mother… that was forever a sore topic and it was a low tactic of his father to use. Yet he knew it affected his father just as harshly. Like so many others in nobility, it was a marriage for convenience; his mother was from a high-standing noble family, prestigious enough that the Nikiforov line could find some use of marrying her in. Who else better to marry than the heir to throne than a distinct family of ore mine owners? No, they were not expected to love one another, but they were expected to keep up looks. Courtesans were taken. It was expected, if not encouraged. What wasn’t expected was for Viktor’s mother to fall honestly in love. Even less so, for her to find her actual soulmate. Time passed, and the courts made sure the gossip flickered, but it was only a matter of time before the courtesan’s true intentions became true. She was murdered in her sleep, and the assassin promptly fled. Thus began the kings unending obsession with soulmates.

Or rather, his unending hatred.

“And so it must be convenient…” Viktor said to himself, thinking of how easy it must be to accuse Yuuri. It was just more of his paranoia—why did he not see this sooner? It was what he wished to confront his father with, but as it was, he did not have the upper hand in the conversation. He laughed ruefully and turned back to his door, listening carefully to make sure everyone was gone before he went back into his room.

It seemed empty, and he could almost convince himself so, but a genuine smile graced his lips as he knelt and looked beneath the bed. Yuuri stared back at him, wide-eyed.

“Are they gone?” He asked, and Viktor had to hold back a laugh.

“Don’t laugh, this is serious!” Yuuri countered in a hushed tone as he crawled from beneath the bed.

“Y-You,” Viktor held his sides. “You were like a cat when the bells went off. I didn’t even have enough time to react.”

“Would you rather I not react all?” Yuuri walked over to Viktor and huffed as he crossed his arms.

“I turned around and you were gone.” Viktor sauntered over to the bed and sat down, beckoning Yuuri.

“What did you talk about out there?” Yuuri asked as he approached.

“You didn’t hear?” Viktor looked down, his smile fading. “He came to play his part of the doting, worried father. I thought about confronting him—right then and there. But I let him get to me.”

Yuuri sat down on the bed next to Viktor, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. The latter leaned his head into the touch and sighed.

“But let’s not worry about that right now. Breakfast should be up soon, and in the mean time I have to go over my plan with you.” Viktor said.

“Your… plan?” Yuuri asked, with no small amount of skepticism.

“Yes. _Your_ escape plan.” Viktor said with a smile.

“Oh? And what is this master plan of yours.”

“I’m so glad you asked; in our happily ever after, once you escape of course, we have a secret torrid love affair, known by few. Then, once tensions have lowered, and you’re safe and sound, we—”

“Viktor.”

“Hm?”

“I meant the actual escape plan.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Viktor looked up in surprise, blinking. “ _Oh_ , of course you meant that.”

Viktor paused, his expression actually going serious before he spoke.

“Well first, it involves your sister.”

Now it Yuuri’s turn to blink.

“ _Sister_?”

\- - -

Minako, appropriately, had the patience of a saint when it came to Mari and her rare outbursts. They were never overt and emotional—that girl was always one to try and keep the appearance of a leveled head. Even when she was angry, or sad. Or afraid. No, when Minako came from the back chambers to see that familiar mop of brown hair over elegant noble livery pacing, she knew something was on Mari’s mind. Minako needed only clear her throat for the younger woman to start speaking.

“Another summons to the castle.” Mari said whilst she paced back in forth in front of the pews. Minako watched her move to and fro, sighing as she walked over and placed a hand to her shoulder.

“Splendid, is it not?”

“No, it is not splendid. Need I even mention that it’s from the prince of all people? I told you how _splendid_ that last encounter went.”

“Then why are you still dawdling here? I doubt the prince would like to be kept waiting, much less so if you aren’t on good terms.”

“ _I don’t want to go_.” Mari said through gritted teeth.

“But why?” Minako asked as she pulled Mari over to have a seat. “If the prince seems so fond in meeting you once more, he doesn’t harbor any ill will towards you. You needn’t be nervous.”

“Minako you know nothing of how nobility act.” Mari laughed into her hand. “If he hated me, he would be an idiot to display it outright. They consider socializing a game. They keep their enemies close to them—easier to stab them in the back that way. Who knows, he could be inviting me to my execution for disrespecting him! I honestly don’t know what you see in that man. He, like his father, cannot be trusted.”

“The prince is much different than his father, Mari. Perhaps you may never believe me on this matter.”

“Perhaps not. The man showed common courtesy to you once and now he’s the pinnacle of humanity!”

Without a word, Minako stood from the pews and walked over to the writing desk that sat behind the church’s main area.

“You aren’t the only one who has received summons from the castle.” Minako said as she held up a letter. There was a broken seal—one undeniably from the royal family. She walked over to Mari and set it down on her lap.

“The king and his advisors have agreed to let me present my evidence. We can finally take steps towards clearing Yuuri’s name.”

“So, what then? This won’t bring Yuuri back from the dead—he was still _murdered_.”

“You’re right, Mari. It won’t bring him back. Nothing will. The very least we can do is honor his memory and clear his name of any wrongdoing. It’s what he would’ve wanted. It’s what _you_ wanted.”

“I know.” Mari bowed her head and closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at the letter. “I know. I’m sorry for yelling.”

“I know this is still very hard on you. You aren’t made of stone, Mari. It’s okay to feel hurt sometimes. It’s even better to express that hurt. You can’t keep bottling it up. Whenever you feel like you need someone to talk to, I’ll always be here.” Minako picked up the letter and folded it into her robes. “The prince promised me he would send my petition to the king. Still, even if Prince Viktor kept his promise and the king saw it, I held doubts in my heart that nothing would come of it. I was afraid to face you and your parents with disappointment. But now I know that it wasn’t all just hot air. Give the prince a chance; I can feel in my heart that this will lead us somewhere.”

Mari looked up, smiling ruefully as she faced Minako.

“Fine. But I’ll do it only for you. I still don’t like that man, but if you feel like he can be trustworthy… Then fine. I’ll take the bait.”

“Must you phrase it like that?” Minako said with a laugh.

“Yes. I take no joy in talking to nobility.” Mari sighed and stood, stretching her arms above her head. “But at any rate, I have to leave now if I want to make good time. If you don’t hear from me, you can always assume I’ve been beheaded—or burned at the stake. I wouldn’t put it past the family.”

“Mari, don’t talk like that!” Minako chided, and the former shook her head.

“I’m only kidding. Though I still don’t trust the prince within an inch of my life. I’ll see you soon, Minako. Tell my parents I love them.”

“Of course.”

Mari stopped briefly to hug Minako, thankful she was able to calm her nerves before setting out for the castle. Goodness knows today would be a long one.

-

This time when Mari was led to the room, the prince was not there waiting for her. Two guards attended to the door outside, but the room was empty save for her. It was unnerving, and as each minute passed on an ounce of dread was added to her conscience. To think she had been worried of being late herself when the prince could not deign to be on-time for his own invitee. Mari wanted to let that annoyance swell, but she could not let go of her unease. It had been late afternoon when she arrived, and as the seasons had still been changing, so the sky was quick to change colors. Before she knew it, the room was being tinted in hues of orange; an hour and a half had already passed. What was keeping him?

Finally, the door behind her opened and Mari craned her neck to see if it was finally the prince. To her dismay it was simply a castle knight, who came around and bowed deeply to her.

“Lady Mari Katsuki?” He asked, and she nodded her affirmation. “The prince apologizes for his tardiness, and that he cannot be here to escort you himself. Pray follow me.”

“Escort me? Where are we going?” Mari asked, but stood nonetheless once the knight began walking towards the door.

“There are private rooms beyond the normal cellarage that the king uses to entertain guests of very high importance. One of these rooms has been reserved for you.”

True to his words they were descending down basement stairs, staircases she had never seen in her few times visiting the castle. She pressed further with her questions—why did she have to wait so long, why did she have to go to one of these special rooms unlike before—but the knight had grown taciturn, insisting that her questions would be answered by the prince himself once they met. They descended into a dimly lit hallway that smelled of dust and candlewax. The long hallway they moved down seem to stretch on for ages, and at the back of her mind Mari had a realization and a fear. An irrational part was moving in her mind, the memory that she had indeed moved down this hallway before.

Not very long ago, though she had repressed most of the memories of that night, she had been led down this very same hallway. At the end of the hall, if her memory served correct, there would be another door. A door that led to the castle dungeon.

Her memory held true, and they came to that door, and Mari stopped walking. As the guard approached the door, Mari realized that, perhaps, the prince had truly been offended by her words. Would he really do it, though? Imprison and execute her? She had to run, now—

“Madam, is something the matter?” The knight she had been following had turned a corner. Whilst she had been panicking of what to do—to run or fight—the knight had walked clear past the door and turned the corner into another hall. _Past_ the dungeon.

“No… Nothing, I was, ah…” She trotted forward to catch up, hurrying past the door. “I thought I had to sneeze.”

“I see. Yes, it is quite dusty down here.” They continued on. This hallway, unlike the last, had various doors leading off of them, and the question begged Mari why one would keep such rooms for “important guests” so close to cells and dungeons? What kind of guests were these, and why was Mari included in them?

“Right this way, the prince is waiting inside.” The knight stepped forward to open the door, ushering her in. The knight did not announce her presence, instead bade her to enter as if it were something covert. Something strange was going down. Candle light poured in to the hallway and Mari stepped inside. It was definitely a sitting room—posh and stately as anything else in the castle, though it stood out as an intense change of scenery from the intensely unnerving hallway to a welcoming room.

“Hello, Lady Katsuki.” Prince Viktor greeted her with a jovial smile. Before she even had a chance to bow and show her gratitude the prince was gesturing to the settee across from him. “Please, have a seat.”

Gingerly, she sat across from him. A sense of déjà vu washed over her as a numbing silence filled the room. The prince spoke first.

“I’m sure you’ve realized by now that something strange is happening.”

Mari blinked in surprise, so shocked that the prince would readily point it out.

“I’m… I am not sure what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t find it at all strange that I made you wait in a room for two hours, then had you brought down into _another_ sitting room to have a chat? Much less in the depths of our cellar. And it doesn’t, perhaps, mark up as particularly odd that such rooms are down here… This doesn’t strike you as strange?”

“I… Yes, it’s very strange.”

“Good. Nothing seems normal as of present.” The prince said with a sigh. He was staring off into the distant wall, as if avoiding her eye contact. Not something expected of nobility, let alone the prince, but he had pointed it out himself; nothing normal was happening.

“I have no idea how to say this. And if I do say it, I doubt that you would readily believe me. You would think I’m some cruel bastard toying with your emotions. So I won’t say it.”

He stood from his seat and walked to the side of the room, where another door stood. Mari hadn’t even noticed the door until he was right in front of it. Now she was afraid—what did he mean by all he said? She wished she had her sword. She wished she had her armor or literally _anything_ she could use to defend herself. Was there still time to run? Could she make it out of the castle if she started running right—

The prince opened the door. A cloaked figure stood in the door, hiding most of their form except for their… face.

By god, his face.

Mari was brought back, suddenly in her memories of that night at Carteneau’s, when she had been so sure she saw her brother’s face. She had spent days upon weeks burying any shred of doubt or hope that plagued her mind. She wondered for so long if her brother had been haunting her, until finally she managed to chalk it off as mistaken identity. The night had been playing tricks on her, the moon had been shifting the shadows. But in the stark candlelight, there were no dramatic shadows of the moon to trick her vision. Suddenly, _overwhelmingly_ , the shock of déjà vu took over her.

He was here.

Mari put a hand over her mouth and stood as she involuntarily heaved out a sob. She fought to bite back crying and her tears as her brother’s expression went from confusion, to worry, to realization.

“Mari?” He asked, as if he needed to confirm her identity, and through blurry vision she could just barely see him stepping forward. She couldn’t make out a comprehensible word, and she didn’t try. She’d had nightmares like this before, but never could she hear her brother voice as clear day. Her tears poured over.

“Mari!” Suddenly the apparition that was Yuuri moved forward, launching into a hug that nearly sent her sprawling on the floor. But she caught him and hugged back and let herself cry. It couldn’t be a dream, please, it was too cruel. She couldn’t handle it if this was a dream.

“Yuuri, I’m so sorry.” She managed to utter through her tears.

“Shut up, don’t you apologize.” His voice was breaking as well, and she could tell he was crying just as hard as she.

“This is my fault.” Mari said, shaking her head and trying to stop crying. Yuuri pulled back from the hug to look at her, and Mari had to gasp. He didn’t look like the little boy and brother she had grown to so fondly remember—no there was fierceness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and a maturity that overshadowed the one he had before.

“What happened to you?” And then she saw it; the scar. The grim reminder that his fate hadn’t been undone, and that truly he did not come back unscathed. “What did they do to you?”

Yuuri brought her back into a hug again.

“It’s a long story.”


	10. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no D:

“I’ll kill her.” Mari said with an alarming conviction. “I’ll hunt her down myself and end that miserable woman’s life.”

“Mari, don’t say hasty things like that.” Yuuri said in a soothing tone, putting his hand on her shoulder. She shook her head with a grimace.

“I’m so tired of this… Of people thinking they can take advantage of us without consequence.”

“Even so, she’s far too strong for you to take on. If you think about it, without her, I wouldn’t be here right now.” As Yuuri said this, Mari’s grimace deepened. Of course she knew that, but as if she could ever think of that woman as anything but an enemy. Not when she now knew that woman was responsible for turning her brother into an assassin, and a pawn-like servant.

“Revenge should come at a later date,” Viktor spoke now, and Mari looked up to the prince to see him laying out empty scrolls of paper and quills on the table in front of them. “After the two of you are safe, preferably.”

Reluctantly, she nodded, reaching up to grip her brother’s hand. To think, in the irony of it all, she would be calling the prince an ally in her mind. So many things had happened in the course of a few hours since she last spoke to Minako. Enemies one day, friends the next perhaps. Was this what Minako had foresaw when she bade Mari to seek alliance with the prince? No, surely not; surely neither of them could have predicted any of this, much less Yuuri returning from the dead. But who would she be right now to hold on to her reservations about Viktor right now? Even if it was foolish, Mari made up her mind; she would trust him.

“I’m no master of plans, let alone of the escape variety, so I was hoping  you might be able to provide us with some insight over my idea. If that’s alright with you.” He added the last part hastily, and Mari realized he was still treading on egg shells around her. But he had every reason to. She nodded and sat up, glancing towards Yuuri briefly before reaching towards the parchment and quills in front of her.

“The tunnels down here… where do they lead out to?” Mari asked. “How many people know that I’m here? And who knows about…” She trailed off, and Yuuri cleared his throat.

“A few maidservants and one of my trusted knights know about your presence here. So far, no one knows about Yuuri, aside from a single knight.”

“I see… so all we really need to do is leave this wretched excuse of a castle. No offense.”

“None taken.” Viktor said with a small laugh. He began to tell her of the castle’s hidden passageways, used especially for escaping sieges or possible hostage situations. They were much smaller than the hallways Mari had traveled in on her way to this room, but several of them ran underneath city, extending nearly as far as the city’s gates. Because they were mostly unknown of, save by the royal family, patrols were not especially prudent in those areas; they were pretty average.

“If all that’s truly needed is an escape route and a time, why did you call upon me?” Mari asked. Viktor looked at her with a puzzled expression.

“I’m not sure I understand…?” He said, his tone leading into a question.

“You don’t need me for an escape plan as simple as this.” Mari pressed on. “You of all people should know your knight’s rotations, let alone with one of them on your side. Why call upon me?”

Viktor’s expression shifted now to complete bewilderment.

“With all due respect… You’re Yuuri’s sister. How could I not let you know what’s going on?”

Oh.

She couldn’t help the bemused chuckle she let out, more in disappointment in herself than surprise at the prince.

“My apologies, your highness. I don’t… give you enough credit.” Could anyone blame her, though? Nobility acting out of the kindness of their heart… it was an experience wholly unfamiliar to her. “Why don’t we go over possible escape routes once more, then?”

“The closest exit to us that leads outside,” Viktor said. “Is within the castle’s dungeons.”

Yuuri and Mari were both silent, having shared a mutual look at their reluctance to ever venture down to that place before.

“When this castle was built, it was anticipated that if our family was ever held hostage, we would be put into our own dungeons as some form of mental punishment. That escape route was made to ensure that the royal family would be able to flee the city if the need ever arose.”

“What should I do once I leave the city?” Yuuri asked, and Mari clasped her hands, looking down at them.

“In order to not arouse suspicion, I have to return to my post as soon as possible, but rest assured I will see you to safety little brother. But right now, my biggest concern is finding you a safe place to stay, but you can’t stay in this terrible city. It’s too dangerous.”

She bowed her head in thought, thinking of her connections. Minako was out of the question, and as much as she wanted to bring Yuuri home to their parents, him staying in the city was far too dangerous. Could she find some place safe and secluded for him? It was too uncertain, but did they have a long enough window of opportunity to wait for an idea to come up? The longer Yuuri stayed in this castle unprotected, the sooner he would be discovered.

“I might—” An unexpected voice chimed in, and Mari turned around to find that the guard who had escorted her in began talking. His helm was removed now, held under his arm to reveal short shoulder-length blonde hair. Once all the attention of the room turned towards him, he looked away in feigned apathy.

“My family lives out on the countryside a few miles from here. He might be able to lay low there.” The guard said flippantly.

“Yurochka,” Viktor started. “You realize you don’t need to help us, right?”

“I’m already in this too deep.” The guard, Yurochka, said. “I’m sure you’ve all realized that the longer he stays here, the more likely he is to be caught. And when that happens… I’ll surely be implicated. I’m doing this to help myself out first.”

“I see… that’s kind of you.  Thank you.” Mari said genuinely, and the young man huffed but bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement.

“Really, we can’t thank you enough.” Yuuri followed, and to this the knight scoffed.

“Like I said.” Yurochka put his helm back on, leaning against the doorframe. “This is about me, not you. I’m not helping you. But you’re welcome either way.”

Mari saw Yuuri smile, and couldn’t help but to mirror this expression

“I need to send a letter to my family and let them know what’s going on.” Yurochka continued eventually.

“Are you sure they’ll be alright with all of this?” Viktor asked, his face still unsure of Yurochka’s conviction. The young knight nodded once, turning their direction.

“I’ll tell them he’s a friend of mine. I’m sure they won’t mind. My little sister, at least, will appreciate the company.

“So we’ll give it a week’s time.” Viktor nodded, hand to his chin. “In the meantime, I think we all should have a well-deserved rest. Lady Katsuki, I can send another messenger for you once the time has come. With all due respect, my father doesn’t know that you’re here, and I’d rather it stay that way.”

“No, I understand.” Mari said with a shiver. “And no more of that formal nonsense. You can call me Mari.”

The prince laughed and waved his hand.

“Well, if you insist. But then you have to call me Viktor as well.”

“N… No, no way. You’re the _prince_.” She insisted.

“Then I guess we’re at a standstill.” He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, to which Mari let out an exasperated sigh.

“But my point still stands; we must rest before doing this. Even if it seems simple at first glance…”

“…Luck has never been on our side.” Yuuri murmured. Mari’s demeanor quickly turned dour as she realized the truth in that statement.

“I can prepare food for the upcoming journey, but please, allow Yurochka to escort you out.”

“Of course. And one more thing, your high—… Viktor.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow as he waited for Mari to speak.

“Thank you. Know this; before I had many doubts about you—I was sure you were a dangerous man who would rather see my downfall than help me. I wasn’t sure what others saw in you, like my brother for instance.”

“Wow, ouch.” Viktor winced, and Yuuri pulled a face at his sister.

“But.” She reached up, grabbing her brother’s hand and quieting his worried expression. “I see now that I was mistaken about you. While you seem like a flamboyant and eccentric man, you’re still trustworthy. I can see why god deigned for your mark to match my brothers; you’re not a bad man. I want to apologize for my sternness up until now.”

“Thank you, Mari. It means a lot to me that we can finally be friends.” He said with a smile, one that felt genuine.

Mari looked to Yuuri, tears frosting her eyes for a bit, before going to hug him.

“I’m going to miss you, little brother.” She said.

“It’ll only be a week.” He replied, hugging her back tightly.

“Yes, but it feels like you’ve been gone for an eternity. I’m just so glad you’re safe and sound.” She said, sighing once before letting him go. “After this is all over, you’re going to let me spoil you a little, okay?”

Yuuri laughed shaking his head playfully.

“I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be fine for one more week.” He said, and Mari nodded once more.

“I know.”

It was a few more moments before Mari told herself she needed to report back in with her Manor Lord. Tomorrow, she told herself as she was escorted out, she would wake up to her normal routine. Nothing will seem different. Perhaps days shall pass, even a week and she’ll find that this was nothing but one of her self-indulgent dreams. It would be cruel, but it would explain her weak mind. But perhaps, she’ll wake up to find that…

…All of this was reality. It was her reality, it was happening, and she had to do something with it.

-

“Am I a bother to you, Minako?”

Six days had passed, leaving only one evening of respite before it all finally happened. The church had just been emptied of mass, leaving only Minako and a handful of priests and priestesses milling about, save for Mari of course. Aside from the fact that she was known by many to be an acquaintance of Minako’s she was a knight at that, making people to wary to approach her and ask her to leave. Minako, mug of water in hand, sat down next to Mari.

“Of course not, child. Here, drink. Something is on your mind.” Minako handed the mug over to Mari, who took it gratefully as she leaned back and looked up to the ceiling.

“When isn’t there something on my mind?” She asked, not expecting an answer. Minako hummed in response, leaning into the pew before speaking again.

“I have not seen you since we last spoke about the prince. I take it he didn’t execute you?”

“No, no he didn’t.” Mari said with a dry laugh. “You were right, Minako.”

The latter arched an eyebrow.

“Yes, I can readily admit that you were right all along. Your wisdom is impervious.”

“Well I wouldn’t quite say that, but if you insist.” Minako put a hand over her mouth as she laughed. “But I’m glad nonetheless that your meeting went well.”

“It did. Tomorrow I will return to the castle speak once more to speak with him.”

“Is this is a good thing?” Minako asked, to which Mari nodded. “Then why do you not look the part? You seem glum. What’s on your mind, child.”

“Minako… I,” Mari hesitated. So badly… so badly she wanted to tell Minako everything—the woman had been like family to she and Yuuri since they were children. She deserved to know just as much as the next person. But would telling her implicate her in something larger than the both of them?

“It’s best you stay out of this, for now. But soon we’ll get our happy ending.”

Minako sighed deeply, simply looking down at Mari as the younger lady avoided her eyes.

“I know that in time you’ll come to me when you’re ready.” She laid a gentle hand on Mari shoulder before standing. “Know that I’ll always be a shoulder and an ear. I know you’ll do great things, Mari.”

Mari sighed as the former began to walk away and attend to her duties.

“I hope so.”

\- - -

Yuuri tugged at the straps of his cloak nervously, pulling it closer to his form as he let out a deep breath. In an instant, Viktor was there with his hands over Yuuri’s comfortingly.

“Are you nervous?” Viktor asked, to which Yuuri nodded. They had yet to leave Viktor’s room so far, waiting for the knight named Yurochka to come back and report that Mari was here and waiting for them. It was night time, the best time to leave under the cover of darkness, but still Yuuri could not help his anxiety. No one knew of his whereabouts, let alone that he was still within the castle, yet he could not help his paranoia.

“We’ll see each other real soon.” Viktor continued, and Yuuri nodded once more as he leaned forward and placed his forehead against Viktor’s chest. The latter adjusted so that he could wrap his arms around Yuuri’s shoulders as he placed his chin on top of his head. For a long time, the two of them simply stood there in silence, content in merely enjoying each other’s presence. Then the bell came. The bell rung and Viktor paused as he listened for Yurochka’s knock—three times, a pause, and then a fourth one to signify that it was indeed him. Viktor broke from Yuuri with a small kiss to the top of his forehead before cracking the door open to see Yurochka.

“Lady Katsuki waits, and your father is asleep.” Yurochka said in a low tone. Viktor nodded, gesturing for Yuuri to follow as the knight lit a candle and began to lead the two of them down to the basement. Viktor had seldom been down to these floors—the week prior had been his first time in who knows how long. He wasn’t even sure how often his father used these tunnels, let alone the dungeons that they were about to head to.

Once they got to the dungeon doors, Viktor stopped as Yurochka fished out the keys. He noticed absentmindedly that Yuuri had grabbed hold of his hand, clenching it tightly though he looked on with an tempered stare. He could only imagine the trauma that took place beyond those doors, and a pang of anger and deep regret flash through as he saw how strong Yuuri was to mask his emotions so well. But there was vulnerability in that strength, and Viktor could do nothing for the grudge and resentment he felt for Yuuri’s captors—himself, in ignorance, and his father, willfully.

“Watch the step.” Yurochka said as he held the door open. Yuuri gave Viktor’s hand one final squeeze before stepped forward first, much to the latter’s surprise. But still, he followed diligently, with Yurochka holding up the flank. The stairs smelled damp and it was as dark as Viktor pictured this area of the castle to be, but luckily they did not have to linger near the cells for too long.

“Here, let me lead.” Yurochka said with a hint of impatience as he moved forward with his candle raised. The dungeons were empty; reserved mostly for criminals who Viktor’s father deemed “reprehensible, vile, or too dangerous to be held in normal lock up.” Past the main wall of cells was an area for the warden or main knights on watch to rest. They went into that room, and waiting there with a candle in hand was Mari.

“Yuuri!” She set down the candle on a nearby table and ran over to hug her brother with the same fervor as a week ago.

“Mari, I missed you too.” Yuuri said as he hugged his sister back.

“We need to hurry,” Yurochka said offhandedly once they parted. Yuuri shared a look with his sister as she nodded and stepped back for Yurochka. Careful, so as not to make too much noise, he lifted the table back and slide back the rug underneath it. There laid a trapdoor.

“This is as far as I can take you.” Yurochka said, gesturing to the abyss-like darkness of the door. “I have expected duties, and the king has not been lax with our work since your little stunt. The path from here is straightforward; don’t make any turns and you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Yurochka, for everything.” Yuuri said with a light bow. Yurochka made a noise like a scoff as he shook his head and turned.

“Don’t thank me.” He said, and then proceeded to wave towards the trapdoor once more. Yuuri smiled, nodding as he began to descend to the ground below. Mari followed carefully as she held a candle in her hand, and Yurochka immediately closed the entrance behind them. Pinpricks of candlelight shone through the door’s edges until the rug, followed by the table, covered it once more.

“Straight forward he said.” Mari mumbled as she looked past Yuuri to the dark hallway before them, with no visible end in sight.

“Straight forward.” Yuuri repeated as he began to walk. The corridor was dark and smelled faintly of mold and rat droppings, so Yuuri used that as his excuse to make little conversation. In truth, however, it was his surmounting anxiety and premonition that kept him taciturn. It seemed he was not alone in this; while his sister was never the loquacious type, she was oddly quiet as well. Here and there she would make remarks about people from his past—a familiar sounding name, Minako, their parents whose faces he could not recall—but for every break in the conversation, there was minutes of silence.

The hall seemed to stretch on for several miles, and Yuuri was beginning to wonder if they’d somehow gotten lost. As Yurochka had told them, they’d made no turns, but was the city always this big? Finally, the seemingly endless tunnel was coming to an end. A wooden door, rotten and falling apart at the hinges was coming closer, and Yuuri jogged a bit to reach it.

“Is that the exit?” Mari asked with exhaustion clear in her voice. Yuuri didn’t answer, instead trying the door.

“It’s locked.” He commented, but Mari scoffed as she stepped forward.

“Please, it’s practically made of twigs.” With one swift kick, the center of the door was in shambles on the door. Yuuri huffed and looked to his sister indignantly as she pulled her foot back, but with a little bit of humor.

“ _I_ was going to do that.” He said.

“You faltered. Here, hold this baby brother.” Mari passed the candle to him with a sly grin as she began to move away jagged edges of wood out of the doorframe until it was safe to slip through. Yuuri followed after her, eyes adjusting to the moonlight that shone through the broken windows and falling roof of the building they’d entered.

“An abandoned, nondescript shack.” Mari noted, looking around and stepping up to what used to be a fireplace, but was now a soot-covered pile of bricks. “This is perfect. No one will be paying attention to this place.”

“Where do we go from here?” Yuuri asked, and Mari nodded as she reached into her cloak and drew a piece of parchment. As she opened it, he saw that it was a crudely drawn map, obviously of parts of the city and the countryside.

“From here, we keep walking. We need to find a way past the city walls, but once we do that there should be nothing to worry about.”

_Click, Clack, Click, Clack…_

Yuuri turned in unison with his sister, hand at his hip as he heard a tapping noise from far within the hallway they’d just come from. It was too loud to be a mouse and immediately he saw the faint glow of a candle, too far and too bright to make it out. Was it Yurochka come to help them, somehow? No, this person had come too suddenly and too close, as if from one of the hallway’s many branches and turns. Finally they came into view, between the pieces of broken wood, lit in the candlelight of their hand was the face of a woman.

Specifically, a woman named Lilia.

“You!” Yuuri drew the sword from his hip, immediately channeling dark energies to fill with aether. His throat ran dry and his hands held a slight tremor, but he tried to keep his calm. He should have known she would come for him eventually. Behind him, he could hear Mari suck in a breath as she backed away; she had no weapon with her, but Yuuri still found safety in numbers.

“It all makes sense now.” She stepped forward, out of the doorway and into the house, and Yuuri stepped back, keeping ample distance for swordplay. She set the candle in her hand down on a dusty table, seemingly paying Yuuri no mind as she brandished her familiar rapier in her other hand.

“What makes sense?” Yuuri heard Mari ask, and he cursed silently that his sister was walking into that woman’s mind games.

“Everything has become crystal clear.” She smiled now, a rueful thing, directed at Mari. “I got the wrong witch. I jumped to conclusions, which is my mistake. I trusted the king’s word as he announced it, that a heinous and powerful magic user was being put to death. But the poor painter boy was put to death for falling in love. Tragic, it truly is, but this saddening love tale does not help me.”

“Mari, pay her no mind!” Yuuri said, holding his sword with conviction. “Leave us be! How did you even find me?”

“Brazen fool! Whose magic do you think is running through your soul? Don’t forget who your maker is. You are a walking waste. I had so much trouble resurrecting you—your soul refused to take once again to your lifeless corpse. I poured so much of my magic into your rebirth, only to have it squandered in an empty vessel! I shall take back the magic that is right fully mine,”

She pointed her sword forward—not at Yuuri, but at Mari.

“And I shall have the obedient servant I trained for.”

“Don’t get cocky. You’re outnumbered here, or can you not count.” Yuuri spat.

“Ha! You amuse me. Tell me, did you forget who your master is?” With her hand held up to her side, she began to clench her fist, and Yuuri realized too late what she was doing. Like a noose around his neck, his scar began to burn and constrict him in a pain that felt carved right down to his very sword. He nearly dropped to the floor had he not used his sword as a brace, clutching his neck in agony.

“Yuuri!” His sister was at his side, a hand to his back as she tried to help him.

“I’ll kill you, you dirty witch.” Mari said through gritted teeth. Yuuri tried to tell her to run, that Lilia was stronger than she seemed, but no words could escape his throat. All of his effort had to go to pushing down the pain. Mari gasped as Yuuri used every ounce effort towards standing up straight, sword held precariously. All the magic quickly left his blade, and he used what little power he had to bolster his will, holding up the steel sword in defiance.

“You… are outnumbered.” He choked out, and Lilia laughed, shaking her head.

“No, child. You are outnumbered.”

There was a sound behind them, from within the house—like wood breaking apart, and then a deafening creak. Yuuri turned towards the sound in shock. A door was opening, and a set of heavy clanging footsteps were entering the house.

A single lone knight stood, bearing his sword in a defensive stance. Had it not been for his stature, Yuuri might not have recognized him.

“Yurochka?!” Mari asked in shock, and indeed the knight responded to his name with a flinch.

“You… No.” Realization began to dawn him; the boy’s sword was not turned against Lilia. But against him.

“Why?” He asked as Yurochka stepped forward.

“I told you, I wasn’t in this to help you. I have to help myself first. I have to help my _family_ first.” He responded, trying and failing to hold a tone of resolve.

“We trusted you… How long? How long have you been deceiving Viktor and us?” Yuuri asked, to which Yurochka shook his head.

“I genuinely wanted to help him. If you want to blame someone, blame yourself. Blame that witch. She tracked you and found out you were hiding and playing house with Viktor and came to me for answers, once she found out I was the one knight in on his little secret. I never wanted for something like this to happen, but I have to protect my family.”

“Have you learned nothing? _Never turn your back on an enemy!_ ”

Yuuri gasped as searing pain shot across his back in a line, a hot blood burned his skin like fire. He fell to the floor, magic already spent from resisting Lilia as he began to bleed, and his sister followed in shock, trying to clutch his soaking wound.

“Enough with the chatter.” Lilia clenched her fist, and Yuuri crumpled against the weight in pain, blackness creeping at the edges of his vision. “I haven’t the time for this pettiness.”

“Comrades!” Yurochka raised his voice. “I found the intruders in here.”

“No you don’t, you bastard!” Mari bolted away from Yuuri’s side, intent on tackling Yurochka, but his reflexes were quick, for more honed as he’d been a trained knight for much longer. Before she managed to get her hands on him, he landed a kick to her midsection and she fell back, falling to the floor next to Yuuri.

“M-Mari! How dare you.” Yuuri tried once more to get to his feet, and Yurochka stepped back in shock. But before he could continue, the sound of multiple footsteps began to fill the house.

“On your guard, men.” One of the knights shouted, spears raised. Suddenly, the weight of that coiling pain around his neck was lifted, and he looked up only to see that Lilia had disappeared back into the entrance. Knight began to surround him and his sister, lifting them up roughly beneath their arms. His wound ached and he grew weaker as more blood spilled, but now he could concentrate his magic towards the slash in his back.

“Any sudden movements and I’ll gut you like the pig you… wait a second.” One of the knights shoving Yuuri forward stopped briefly, pushing roughly before taking a sharp inhale. “By god… You’re the executed witch…”

Yuuri glared daggers up at Yurochka as a few of the other knights stopped to get a look at his face in confirmation. Yurochka cleared his throat.

“That matters not. Simply bind them and get them into the carriage, we don’t have all night here.”

“Yessir.” The knights said obediently.

“At least last time you gave me the farce of telling me what charges I was captured under. Not this time?” Yuuri asked sarcastically, and earned a slap across the face. The gauntlet of the hand that hit him left a nasty cut from his cheek to his nose, but he ignored it, staring on impassively as they forced him and his sister into the back of a prisoner carriage.

Silently, with the moon and his sister as witness to this grave injustice, done not just once, but twice, he waited as the carriage took off. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to be executed twice, because surely no other fate awaited him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a little while to pump this out as my creativity waned here and there, but the next chapter shouldn't take quite so long. I've begun working on a one-shot songfic, and another series altogether, though unfortunately the latter probably won't come out until next year. Still, I'm excited for it, and it's sci-fi, which is a bit different than what I usually write :p
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and look forward for more to come.


	11. Eye of the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended to upload this earlier, since I went on a writing spree and finishing a good chunk of writing. But internet issues led to me uploading on Sunday orz. I have a bit of a long-winded message at the end of this chapter, so stay tuned if you want.

The night stretched on, seemingly endless as Viktor moved about his room. His mind was in disarray, fretting over every single possibility of what could go wrong. No, there was no hope for sleep tonight.

‘ _Everything is fine._ ’ He tried to tell himself, but nearly scoffed at the absurdity that anything could possibly be fine with a life like this. No, not with luck like his. So prone to misfortune and suffering, he was—he had every right to fear the worst. He should have gone with Yuuri. He should have said damn it all and ran away with him. At least then he could make sure Yuuri was safe.

Yet perhaps it was not too late. He could find the tunnel he and Mari used and catch up to them, then maybe perhaps—

_Ring!_

The sound of his bell going off caught his attention, and he calmly walked over to his door with caution, listening in wonder as to who could be at his door this late. Before anyone had a chance to knock or burst in, he opened the door, utterly surprised to see his father on the other end of the door, accompanied by a single knight.

“I knew it.” His father sighed, shaking his head. “Somehow I knew you’d be awake.”

“Father? What are you doing at such an ungodly hour? And who’s to say you didn’t wake me up?” Viktor asked defensively, and his father tsk’d as he walked past Viktor into his son’s room. The knight stayed at the doorway, practically a statue once the king entered the room.

“Yes, I trust you fell asleep in your day clothes alright. With your bed completely made.”

“…I’m having trouble falling asleep.” Viktor said, noting quietly that his father had been holding a tray of tea as the older man sat down in a chair. There was only one cup. “What’s your excuse?”

“Oddly the same. When you get old, somethings become harder—much more so when you’ve the weight of an entire nation on your shoulders at every goddamn hour. And then there are other stresses. Like scabs, you try to pick at them, and pick at them until they fall away. But if you don’t do it properly, they always come back.”

“And so you’ve come to bother me your problems of scabs? Pray forgive me, father, but I’d prefer to be alone right now.”

“Please Viktor, I’d like to talk. Have some tea. It will calm your nerves.”

Viktor glanced down at the tea cup, before crossing his arms and sitting down at his bed, a smile now gracing his lips.

“Actually, you’re right. I would love to talk. There’s something I’ve been meaning to bring up with you for a long time now.”

“Oh? And what is this pressing matter? Let’s discuss it over tea, then.” His father stood and walked to the table, pouring the tea into the cup. He was about to offer up the cup to Viktor before the latter spoke.

“Was Yuuri really guilty?” Viktor asked, tone and face apathetic as his father faltered. He did not answer. Viktor waited for what felt like minutes, watching his father hold the cup and pointedly not looking at Viktor, before the old man set the cup down on a table near Viktor and sighed, sitting himself.

“The past never dies, does it?” He says finally. “This is but one of many annoying scabs. But it’s so persistent. No matter how I beg and fight with you, you never drop this. Now ‘tis as if…”

His father began to trail off with his words, shaking his head and looking down as if forgetting Viktor was there.

“As if my own fears… made manifest. It never stays quiet for too long, does it?”

“What are you talking about, father?” Viktor asked as his suspicion and fear grew.

“Ah, please Viktor, drink your tea before it grows cold. You needn’t worry yourself over me. Tonight will be different from here on out, I swear it.”

“Just answer my question already. I’m tired of you dodging it, I’m tired of your cryptic-ness. Why do you need to lie? What more could you possibly be hiding?”

“Why ask questions you already damn well know the answer to?” His father snapped. “What would you like from me, Viktor? A hand-written apology? Calm your nerves and drink your tea.”

“Damn the tea to hell!” Viktor stood, nearly knocking the table over in the process. “I want to hear you say it, I want you to admit it.”

“Then so be it. You chased this hound to hell, now deal with it.” His father looked back down at his hands, his face troubled. “I did lie to you. I framed that man for witchcraft because I knew you would never marry so long as you had found your soulmate. It was for the good of the country that you never fall in love. No one should bother themselves with such a petty thing as love.”

Viktor was solemn, speechless almost. Yes, he’d known for a long time now that his father was nothing if not a liar, but what emotions did he expect to feel when his father finally admitted it? Some sense of pride and justice? Retribution? He did not long for closure as he once did mere weeks ago not with Yuuri… safe and sound. Yet he did not expect to feel so complacent and so truly apathetic.

“Ho, I expected a fit of rage and anger. Is this my son or not?” His father asked wryly, trying to get a rise from Viktor.

“What do you care? I knew all along.” Viktor said. He bit back his next words, and the thought itself nearly surprised him; he hated his father. Loathed him, even.

“Then we needn’t press further with this conversation. Drink your tea and we can—”

“Why do you care so much that I drink this tea?” Viktor asked calmly. He looked up to see his father’s expression, one of shock, then one of practiced civility.

“I don’t, I simply hate to see a pot go to waste.” His father said. Viktor nodded, smiling as he picked up the tea cup, then proceeded to pour the contents onto the floor, followed by the cup with a loud shatter.

“What have you done?” His father shouted, standing up as the growing puddle reached his feet. “You foolish boy.”

“My, how clumsy of me. Is this that fit of rage and anger you were looking for?” Viktor asked, and he began to gauge his father’s response. The old man’s irritation turned cold, and he looked past Viktor to the knight standing attention at the door, who took on a surprised stance.

“Don’t simply stand there, you dunce. It’s come to this.” The king jerked his chin, and Viktor assumed the knight was about to fetch a maid or a towel to clean up the mess. Instead, he heard footsteps coming towards him, and cold metal gauntlets holding his shoulders in place.

“What in the hell are you doing? Let go of me,” Viktor struggled to free himself, only to notice that his father was moving towards him with a pot of tea in hand.

“This is for your own good. You forced my hand and brought the impossible into my kingdom, god damn it all I will be obeyed.” Suddenly, his father tried to force the end of the kettle into his face, and he realized something must have been wrong with the tea. Viktor clenched his mouth shut, and his father poured lukewarm—thankfully not scalding—tea across his face, only to realize Viktor’s opposition. Red-faced in anger, his father tried once more to shove the funnel of the kettle into his mouth. With knight holding him down, Viktor could only flinch once he tasted a bit of the tea—Earl Grey, no doubt—enter his mouth. He panicked, kicking out and catching his father in the knee.

“Damn it!” His father let out a curse, dropping the kettle to the floor with a shatter and splash of liquid. The grip around Viktor loosened, and he took that opportunity to try and bolt for the door, only to find the room around him spinning out of control. He landed to the floor, barely able to support himself in his sudden drowsiness, and heard offhandedly the bell to his room ring once more.

“Your highness, pray forgive us but we heard too much crashing. Is everything alright?”

“I told you to wait outside the door.” The king said scornfully. “Everything is fine, Viktor merely… tripped. Please, help my son to his bed and gather a maid to clean this mess and change his clothes. I must give something my attention.”

“Yes, milord.” The knights saluted, and the one who had been assisting his father left with him, leaving the other two to try and help him out of his shirt and into his bed. As his father left, he feigned more weakness than he felt, hoping he would not return with more of that accursed tea. He waited for his room empty as a maidservant cleaned the mess, stewing in the rage that this had not been the first time his father drugged him. But the anxiety he felt at the last conditions had him bolting out of his bed the second he heard the outer door close.

Earl Grey that tasted too sweat and too thick. He last tasted it the night before Yuuri had been executed, when his father insisted that he needed to sort out his thoughts before making any hasty decisions. He drank that tea, only to find himself unbelievably tired. For weeks, then onto months he could never forgive himself for sleeping the night away while Yuuri had been tortured, he could never understand what had been running through his mind, what had come over him? But now he knew it was his father’s way of making sure his plans went uninterrupted… No, now was not the time to brood in that rage. Something was terribly wrong, and Viktor had to do something about it.

Gingerly, Viktor pushed himself from bed, holding onto the post as an overwhelming sense of vertigo washed over him. He ignored it and clenched his teeth, finding his balance and making his way over to the entrance of his hidden path. From there, it was only a matter of making his way into one of the ground floor entrances—but what would he do from there? An idea struck him then; when in doubt who else to turn to but your allies?

 - - -

Yurochka opened the castle doors, sending a salute to the knights guarding the back entrance as he continued down the ground floor corridor, making a hasty turn once out of sight towards the cellarage. The halls at this level were scarce with guards—no, surely their attention was further below, in the dungeons. There, he made his way quietly through the empty corridors until he reached a dead-end hallway made of stone bricks and with a small puddle of water that dipped into the masonry. He’d poured it earlier in preparation for this moment. From within a satchel he retrieved a small orb that the witch, Lilia, had given to him. He could tell it was steeped in fell arcane magic, though he had no experience with the occult. As he was instructed, he dropped it into the puddle, and watched as the surface of the water rippled, then waved unnaturally. The ripples did not cease until a picture began to form on the surface of the water, and Yurochka sneered as he knelt once Lilia’s face came into view.

“It took you long enough.” She greeted dryly.

“What else do you want from me?” Yurochka responded, equally dry. She scoffed and returned his sneer with one of her own.

“You needn’t fear my presence after this, so rest your mind young one. I ask you to complete the deed I longed to finish when I came to this wretched excuse of a country.”

“You… you can’t possibly _that_.” Yurochka’s eyes widened upon his realization. She nodded, expressionless and unsympathetic.

“I shall give you a choice; you can kill either the king… or the prince. I will consider our partnership over once the deed is done.”

“This is a suicidal! I would be killed ‘fore I could even draw my sword against either one of them. So this is how it is, huh? You would have me die doing work you’re too lazy to do yourself?”

“Yes, I would.”

Yurochka was taken aback by the sheer straightforwardness as she continued.

“I was sent to this country in exile—no one ever expected me or my pitiful husband to ever return. Not alive, anyway. But they gave us our one hope of amnesty; if we were to successfully topple the empire from within, we would be allowed our rightful place back in the lap of nobility. But you know as well as I that it was naught but a fool’s errand—suicidal as you put it. I won’t risk my life like this, but I won’t let my dignity be trampled upon either.”

“…You would have me die doing your work.” Yurochka repeated, more to himself in realization of her seriousness, and of the gravity of this situation.

“How difficult would it be to at least take Viktor’s head? Will he not let you get close to him? Gather your wits, he knows naught of your betrayal yet. Simply catch him off guard and lay his soul to rest.”

Yurochka flinched at this realization—she was right, it would hardly be a thing to kill Viktor now. Hell, as trusting as the prince had been before, he could have had many opportunities before. But could he bring himself to stoop so low? After all he’d done? He averted Lilia’s gaze, and she continued on.

“I told you it was a choice. You can choose to either kill the petty monarchs,” She tilted her head to one side. “Or you can choose not to. But it will be your family’s blood to run instead if you make the wrong decision.”

“It’s not a choice, then, is it?!” Yurochka asked.

“You’re young. You can find a way to survive that I may not. And if you do live to see this country die, you will be free of me. If you do not live, you can die knowing that your loved ones are safe. It’s your choice.”

The water began to ripple once more, the image in front of him fading in and out briefly before finally the ripples were gone, and just like that Lilia’s visage disappeared as well.

“Damn you to hell!” Yurochka exclaimed as he slammed his fist into the puddle, jarred by the vibration of his gauntlets. He sat in his own sulking before finally standing up, lost in thought. He continued through the cellarage, coming up to the main floor, only to stop once he saw a familiar figure at the end of the hall. It was none other than Viktor. A wave of nervousness and shame passed through him as the man noticed him and began to approach, more stern-faced than usual, but Yurochka reminded himself that there was no way the prince knew what had happened. And if he did know—know about the hand Yurochka played in all of it—he would be far more angry.

“Yurochka, I need to speak to you quickly.” Viktor said, nudging him by his arm.

“Can it wait? I’m afraid I’m busy at the moment.” He responded in a steady tone. Viktor grew impatient, shaking his head.

“No, it can’t wait.” He took a quick glance about their surroundings, seemingly checking for prying ears. “It’s about Yuuri and Mari—”

Yurochka felt his stomach drop with guilt.

“—I fear something terrible may have happened to them. Do you have any idea what could have happened?”

His throat ran dry, and his words were stopped at his mouth, but Yurochka had to remain strong. What should he say? What could he say? Did he really need to remind himself that he shouldn’t be holding any allegiance to Viktor or Yuuri? His family came first and foremost.

Ah, but it a simple thing it could be to kill Viktor right here, right now. He need but only draw his sword and skewer him, and his allegiance with Lilia would be over, his family would be saved. But the simple thought sent guilt and shame washing over him, and he turned away in the cowardly realization that he could not bring himself to harm Viktor further.

No, he was there that day, and he cannot soon forget the travesties that befell soon after. What went unknown would hurt no one, he told himself. This would be his final plea to loyalty before he continued aiding that heinous woman.

“You and I did not cross paths in this hallway.” Yurochka said slowly, holding the prince’s gaze through the window in his helm. “You overheard the conversation of… two knights talking.”

“What? Yurochka, I don’t have time for riddles, I need to know—”

“Shut up for a second and _listen_.” Yurochka snapped, bringing the prince’s focus back on him. “You did not see me tonight, you heard two knights talking, got it? You… you overheard them speaking of two new prisoners of high regard to the king. Two witches, being held in the dungeons.”

“Then it’s true!”

“You overheard that they were slated to be executed tomorrow morning, at first dawn.”

“Damn him! Did he really expect me to sit idly by a second time around? We have to move now if we want to—”

“Are you insane? Right now those two are likely to be guarded with nothing short of a militia. We’ll never be able to get in and out of the dungeons with ease. “

“To hell with that kind of talk. There must be something we can do.”

“Something _you_ can do. I’m sorry but, I can’t help you this time around.”

“I see… perhaps it was brazen of me to assume you’d help with something so dangerous, but I can hardly sit around during a time like this.”

Viktor began walking forward, obvious with the foolish intent of probably bursting into the dungeons and demanding Yuuri be freed. Yurochka reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, stopping him.

“Have you ever witnessed a private execution?” Yurochka asked. Viktor looked at him in confusion, but halted.

“No… only ever public executions.” Viktor responded.

“Well I have. They’re held behind royal cemetery, where normal citizens have no access.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because there are only a handful of guards then. Two to escort the prisoner, to make sure he doesn’t escape, and four to guard the king. If you have any chances of rescuing Yuuri, it’s then—right before they execute him. Not rushing into a dungeon filled to the brim with knights!”

“But can I afford to wait that long? They could be doing anything to him down there? Not again, I can’t wait idly by until last moment—”

“You won’t be. It’s called being prepared, you asshole. Would you rather he died then get a little hurt?”

Viktor was silent now, staring pensively down.

“I didn’t think so.” Yurochka let go of the prince turning away. Before he had the chance to leave without another the word, Viktor spoke up and caught his attention.

“Thank you, Yurochka. For all that you’ve done for us.”

“Please, save it. I’m only human. I’m not a bad person… no matter what it may seem like. No matter what happens…” Yes, there was one last way he could help Viktor.

“Still, you’re deserving of praise. Without you, I’m not sure where I’d be.”

Yurochka began walking once more, thoughts and words left unsaid. It was tempting to tell the prince that he had been there that day—when Yuuri first came to the castle. He was one of the knights guarding the door when the two of them found out they were soulmates. He’d seen the marks clear as day on their forearms, and he had been there for the execution as well. All his doubts fled when he saw the look in the painter’s eyes to believe him when he said that his love had been true. He was only human, how could he not help when opportunity struck? No, the inhuman thing…

…Was being a traitor they needed him most. No, he’d already made up his mind when he talked to Lilia. It was the high road; he would have to risk his life aiming for the king’s head. But he had a plan now.

He was outside now, under the canopied walkway between the barracks and the castle. Once inside the barracks, he began to undo the ties of his armor on the way to his shared room, starting with his sabatons.

“What’s the matter? Why up this late?” Yurochka looked up to the sound of his comrade’s voice, snapping out of his stupor. “You don’t look as overjoyed as I’d imagine. I dare say you look quite upset.”

“Just… Tense.” He responded, looking away as he slipped the sabatons off his feet.

“You went for a walk, then?” His comrade leaned against the barracks doorway. Yurochka nodded, standing once he’d finished.

“You really need your suit for a walk around the premises?” His fellow knight asked, and Yurochka shrugged in reply.

“It may not be my shift to patrol, but I’d hate to be caught unaware.” Yurochka said with some truth. It did help ease his nerves somewhat, but it was not why he deigned to suit up in the middle of the knight.

“Ha! As if you’ve anything to worry about; the king might as well be treating you to dinner. You can bet your arse he’s going to be compensating you heavily for the deeds you’ve done tonight. Rest your weary soul, friend, and get some rest.”

“Thanks for the worry,” He slid his sword into its holster, sending a glance to the side as he brushed past his comrade and opened the door. “But if you want to keep your head on your shoulders, I’d suggest you fret over someone else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first had the idea for this fic, it took a very different turn than in my mind's eye. I eventually scrapped my first idea, which involved circuses and monster hunters, and tweaked the story to find my way to this. Regardless, I'm so honored and humbled by those of you who've read this story and given me praise. It fills me with joy to find that some of you even binge read this like oh my god, I'm so honored?
> 
> But I started writing this message as a bit of a warning for chapters to come--the story of these two is far from over. Even when things seem like they're getting better, fate has other plans. I'm not _that_ kind of an author. 
> 
> The next chapter should be out soon. Until then <3


	12. The Aftermath

A dark, cramped cell with no lights and only the rats to keep company should not have to be a familiar feeling for Yuuri. It shouldn’t have to be for any person. No one deserved to have such a fate to befall them twice. He sat in silence for the most part, not even entertaining the occasional thought that tried to cross his mind. He was so strained and uncomfortable, what with his arms chained behind him to the wall, and his ankles shackled in a similar manner. Yet eventually, as Yuuri stood in silence, he came to the grim realization that he was not afraid to die tomorrow. Was it apathy? Was he merely so traumatized by the situation that it left him unfazed? Perhaps he simply couldn’t muster the energy to care anymore. He’d been trying so hard—in his life and in his afterlife—to find happiness, but fate was a cruel mistress. Whatever unseen force controlled every aspect of his life forbade him from finding solace.

So he sat there, in silence. 

But his silence was broken several hours into his imprisonment by the sound of footsteps. Yuuri didn’t need to look up in order to guess who his “visitor” was. The calm footsteps echoed with a tame impatience, it felt, but also with smug triumph.

The king stopped before Yuuri’s cell, looking, but the latter did not spare him a glance. Yuuri kept his head down, holding back the tempest of anger that began to swell within him.

“Why are you trying to ruin my life?” The king asked, and yuuri scowled, looking up.

“ _ I’m _ the one ruining  _ your  _ life?” He asked in disbelief. “I’m the one who was killed—no,  _ murdered  _ for falling in love. And it’s about to happen again. But somehow, I’m the one who has ruined your life?”

“I didn’t want to kill you. I gave you a choice, and you forced me to take drastic measures.”

“Please, your highness, spare me the lies. You don’t care about anyone but yourself, not even your own son.”

“Everything I have done,” The king clenched his teeth as spoke; Yuuri was picking away at that icy resolve. “Everything I have done has been for Viktor’s sake. For this nation’s sake, it was critical that he not fall in love so aimlessly.”

“That’s a lie.” Yuuri said, prompting a snort from the king. “That’s lie! If you had actually cared, you would have tried to find a nonviolent solution; you didn’t even attempt to talk to Viktor, nor did you propose a marriage for looks either. Instead you chose to tear us apart. It’s not that Viktor couldn’t fall in love, it’s just that you didn’t  _ want  _ to  _ see  _ us fall in love.”

“That is enough out of you!” One of the accompanying knights rattled the bars of his cell, startling him as he slide back away from the door.

“At ease.” The king’s face was growing red with anger, but it seemed as if he had gained some of his dignity. “Quite the heartfelt speech. I damn near got  _ angry _ .” 

The king laughed, shaking his head.

“I won’t bother with formalities with you anymore; I will relish watching you and your sister burn tomorrow.”

“Go to hell.” Yuuri said.

“After you.” The king remarked, sending Yuuri one last glare before turning to leave. As he left, Yuuri kicked the bars of his cell with all his strength out of frustration to the futility of his situation. It left him with nothing but a sore foot. 

Why, now of all times, did he have to feel something as petty as emotions? It would be so much easier to face his death stoically, if only to spite his enemies if nothing else. Did he really not have any hope for escape anymore? If he tried hard enough, perhaps he could defy all odds and break he and his sister out—

_ It’s useless _ , Yuuri thought as he slumped against the cell wall, leaning down to a squat position; the chains at arms made it impossible to actually find comfort. Still, he closed his eyes, determined to keep himself from crying, and waited in bitter silence. He sat like this for possibly hours, trying to find his apathy from before, only to discover that it was hiding from him. It was not until the dim blue rays of dawn began to peek through his windows that he looked up, horrified that morning had come.

He could hear footsteps approaching. His breath quickened.

“Up! Get up!” A guard began kicking at his cell, and Yuuri looked up with a glare as he stood. His door was unlocked, and two more guards came in, gripping Yuuri by his arms as they transferred his shackles from the wall to connect to each other. Once they were sure he was secured, they began to push him forward roughly, leading him out of the dungeon.

“Dirty witch!” A loud yell called Yuuri’s attention as he heard a loud smacking sound. Straining over his shoulder, he could see his sister several paces behind him with a large gash across her cheek from being struck. He strained slightly, instinctively wanting to reach out to her, but he was roughly pushed forward with a complaint from the guards handling him. So he turned forward once more, expression solemn as he marched on. Before he knew it, he was being led up a flight of stairs and through a dark corridor. One of the guards stepped forward to open the door before him, and Yuuri grimaced at the quickly brightening sky that met him. The guards continued to march them on, until they came to a prisoner’s carriage that sat on a dirt road.

The doors were opened, and Yuuri made his way up before the guards had a chance to force him up. His sister joined soon after, looking to him as if to speak, only to be silenced once she realized one of the knights would be joining them back here. The cell of the carriage was just tall enough for him to stand, finding support with a handhold attached to the wall. He eyed the two of them through his helm, his free hand at his hip on the hilt of his sword, simply waiting for them to do something. Mari pushed herself further into the cell, leaning against Yuuri’s shoulder, a silent act of submission that spoke volumes. Yuuri closed his eyes as they were carried on to the site of their deaths.

\- - -

“This time, I shall see to it that you stay dead.” The king said, as Mari and Yuuri were forced against a large wooden pole. The wood was wider than a human, as if carved from the body of a tree, and as soon as one of the guards were able to hold them against it, another began to tie them to it with rope before removing their shackles, commenting on how it would be a shame to waste good metal. Four other guards stood at the kings side as he smiled triumphantly.

“Normally, for disgusting criminals such as yourselves, I would force your family to watch you die, before killing them as well. But I cannot suffer to let you live any longer. I don’t know how you came back to this realm, but I shall see to it that you will not return. And perhaps I shall pay your relatives a visit as well.”

“Don’t you touch them, you bastard!” Mari cried out. “This is between us. Leave them out of this.”

“Quiet, wench!” One of the knights moved to strike Mari, but paused when the king raised his hand.

“Pay the witch no mind. She cannot hurt you; her words are but air. You two, ready the charcoal and the—”

The king went quiet, as the knights surrounding him went on guard; the sound of thundering hooves filled the air as someone began to ride up the hill to the execution grounds.

“Who goes there?” One of the knights called out.

“I don’t believe it…” The king stepped forward in disbelief and Yuuri craned his neck around to see and confirm his suspicions, failing to do so. 

“Yuuri… Yuuri, it’s Viktor…” Mari said, seeming to not believe her own words. Yuuri tried once again, struggling against his tight bonds as the sound of hoofbeats came to a stop, followed by footsteps. He had to see it for himself, his mind would not let him believe it was truly Viktor coming to rescue them, like a knight in shining armor.

And yet… 

“Halt, your highness! We cannot allow you to come any furth—”

There was a painful sound of metal piercing metal, and the knight was speaking fell back into Yuuri’s line of view, motionless. 

“What are you all standing about for?  _ Stop  _ him, but do not harm him.” The king ordered, and the four of the five remaining knights moved forward. Yuuri could see one remaining, but he was the only one paying attention as the knight turned to the king, raising the butt of his spear to strike the man.

“What are you—” The king’s words were cut off with a pained yell as he fell to the ground, blood beginning to ooze from a gash in his head. All of the knights stopped, turning to see the traitorous knight standing over their king. The knight, from beneath his helm, seemed to turn towards Yuuri and nod, and that was when he realized it could be no one else but Yurochka helping them. The knights that were heading Viktor’s way hesitated, turning upon Yurochka as they deemed him the bigger threat. 

Finally, Viktor came into view. He was at his side using his sword in an attempt to cut away at the ropes. Immediately, Yuuri’s eyes welled with tears, until it was becoming harder to see as he smiled once Viktor was able to loosen the knot.

“I refuse to let this happen again,” Viktor said, pulling at the rope with his sword with all his might until the it snapped. “Not while I can do something about it.”

Yuuri stepped forward to embrace Viktor, tears finally spilling over and down his face. He looked back then, realizing that Yurochka was defending himself against four other knights. Two of their swords began to glow, and that’s when he realized they were mage knights.

“We have to help him.” He said resolutely.

“You two, go on ahead.” Mari picked up a sword as she began to move forward. It glowed a steady white stream of light as she touched it. “I’ll help him. But you two need to escape.”

“Absolutely not.” Viktor said, and Yuuri nodded.

“We’ll help, together we can—”

“Just go! I’m experienced enough to handle these four alongside Yurochka. I’ll be able to fight better knowing your safe, so please, just escape.”

She pushed them towards the horse, and Viktor grabbed his elbow gently, urging him back as his sister moved into the fray. She stepped in between the two mage knights, leaving the other two normal knights to Yurochka.. He nodded, taking one last look back before following Viktor to the horse. Viktor helped him up onto the horse first before he got on behind him, holding Yuuri close to him as he grabbed the reins to urge the horse forward. When Yuuri looked back, he could see his sister had taken down one knight, but was struggling to hold her ground against two of them, while Yurochka faced off against the last one. Immediately, he regretted his decision to leave them, until he gasped in shock to see the king was still alive and getting to his feet. Viktor brought them to a stop, looking behind to follow Yuuri’s gaze.

“What are you imbeciles doing? Ignore the chaff, after my son, they’re escaping!” The king called out. That’s when Yurochka acted, parrying one of the knights after him and moving to strike down the king. It was over in seconds; his spear stabbed without resistance and the king stumbled with a choking sound before Yurochka removed the blade. The king fell to the ground, staggering, before falling into his own blood.

“You bastard, we’ll have your head!” The knights turned on Yurochka at once, but Viktor nudged Yuuri, urging him to look away as he gripped the reins tighter.

“I’m getting us out of here,” Viktor said solemnly. “I can’t look back after this.”

Once more, he urged the horse into a light trot, which soon turned into a gallop as they raced down the hillside. These execution grounds seemed to have been a separate part from the castle, ungated which made their escape into the city much easier. The alarm hadn’t been sounded by any of the knights, so hopefully this gave them time to escape.

But the city was quiet; dawn had yet to give way to morning, and very few people were up and about. Yuuri urged Viktor to stop the horse, and although he was hesitant, he conceded.

“I know a way beyond the wall from within the city,” Yuuri said as Viktor began to tie the horse to a pole. “We can wait for Mari and Yurochka in the forest outside the city. The plan is basically the same.”

“Hopefully they’ll know to find us there.” Viktor commented, but let Yuuri take his hand and guide them.

“I’m sure they’ll realize we won’t be staying in this godforsaken city.” Yuuri said with a smile.

For the most part, he kept them both closer to the ever waning shadows. The two of them stood out immensely—Yuuri with his prisoner’s slops and Viktor with his princely attire. They had to wait in darkened allies for knights to make their rounds, but in the end, Yuuri was able to make it to the abandoned house that sat next to the city wall.

“Upstairs, there’s a balcony.” Yuuri said as he stopped at the staircase, a feeling of consternation high on his voice. A miracle was happening, and despite all that led to this point his mind was waiting for something terrible to happen. It was coming, he reminded himself. Nothing good ever lasted too long.

“Yuuri, is something the matter?” Viktor asked as he clutched his shoulder, a gentle expression asking him to pour his heart out to him. Yuuri looked away, nearly blinded by the radiance that was Viktor’s hope. Even when he had given up at living, Viktor was there with an impossible hope. For him, Yuuri would set aside his anxieties and fears.

“Nothing, I’m fine. We should hurry.” He moved up the stairs, trying to find the balcony that he had used so long ago to get within the city. Was it that long ago? It felt like ages since he had been playing the role of a mindless and obedient puppet, killing whenever he was told to. It felt… cathartic to have some sense of autonomy back to him. He pushed aside a dilapidated door moving onto the balcony and gesturing to the wall which was just out of reach.

“This is our way out of here.” Yuuri said, and as Viktor stepped forward he raised his hand and ushered him back. “Knights. Even this early, they make their patrols. We’ll have to wait until the next patrol comes by, just to be certain.”

Viktor nodded his understanding, kneeling down as Yuuri did to listen carefully for the patrolling knights. All was silent for several minutes, until they could hear distant footsteps and light chatter. Yuuri felt his heart in his throat as his anxiety peaked; this was it, after these knights passed. They would be free of this accursed place once and for all.

“W-We should be clear.” Yuuri said once the knights passed the bend of the wall, and he let out a deep breath to calm his nerves. He looked up in surprise, feeling a hand on his shoulder once more and turned to see Viktor smiling down at him. No words passed, but his gesture and expression spoke thousands; “We’ve come this far. No matter what, we’ll make it together” it gave Yuuri the resurgence of courage that he needed. He covered Viktor’s hand with his own, giving it a slight squeeze as he stood and made his way over to the edge of the balcony that was but mere feet from the wall’s edge. Yuuri hopped across, standing on the wall, before jumping down onto the ground. It was not a short jump, but Yuuri was strong enough that, with his knees bent, he was able absorb most of the fall. He looked up to viktor, who gazed down precariously as he crouched down on the wall, eventually sitting on it.

“I’ve come this far, yet downing a wall is what has me faltering…” Viktor said, sucking his teeth in annoyance.

“Here, take my hand,” Yuuri reached out. “It’s not that bad a drop.”

Viktor nodded, grasping Yuuri’s hand gratefully, before pushing himself off the wall and onto the ground. He stumbled a bit, nearly falling over, but Yuuri provided the support he needed to find his balance. 

“We’re finally out of this place… let’s make our way to the forest, before any more knights come. It seems like they aren’t aware of the situation within the castle yet.” Yuuri said, looking out towards clearing, which was a ways off. They could make it before the next knight rotation came, though.

Still holding Viktor’s hand, Yuuri set off in a light jog until they reached the clearing. Once in the forest, he and Viktor took several steps further in; they couldn’t be seen, but they could watch the wall.

“Yuuri sit down. You need to calm your head.” Viktor said abruptly, prompting Yuuri to jump.

“Calm?” Yuuri tore his eyes off the wall, looking in Viktor’s direction and trying to feign a cool demeanor. “I’m calm right now.”

Viktor walked closer and reached up to cup Yuuri’s face, bringing his gaze up so he was looking at him. 

“You nearly died—for the second time. You have bags under your eyes. Please, rest a little while we wait.”

Yuuri closed his eyes and sighed, leaning forward to press his face against Viktor’s chest. He felt himself flush red when he felt Viktor laugh, a soft and warm sensation that made him hug him tighter. Yuuri yielded as Viktor slowly sat down with him in his lap, a soft hand running through Yuuri’s hair as the weight of his exhaustion had him slowly dozing off. 

\- - -

Viktor sat quietly, reveling in his own hypocrisy as he told Yuuri to rest when he himself had been far too stressed to even sleep last night. He was tired, but for some reason he refused to let himself sleep. Something in the back of his mind told him to be vigilant—but surely no knights would be searching the forest yet. They probably weren’t even aware that they’d left the city, even if they knew of his crimes now. He leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree he rested against, letting out a long sigh as looked at the brightening sky past the canopy of leaves. He wanted all of this to be over. After all of this, he would live a quiet life on the countryside with Yuuri and his sister. All of this stress was wearing too hard on his psyche. 

He heard the rustling of leaves a few feet before him, and he was overwhelmed with relief. He sat up slightly, stirring Yuuri who pushed himself up as well, rubbing at his eyes. But Viktor’s relief was short-lived. 

Before him stood a woman he didn’t recognize, her black hair and green eyes wholly unfamiliar to him. He wondered, at first, if this was an ally of Mari’s or Yurochka’s. But then he saw the frenzied look in her eyes, and his senses went on alert. He slowly began to stand, bringing Yuuri with him who gasped suddenly, clutching his shirt.

“What’s wrong—”

“ _ You! _ ” Yuuri didn’t pause to answer Viktor; instead, quite surprisingly, he grabbed the sword at Viktor’s hip and pulled it free making a dash towards the woman before them. Before Yuuri could make good distance, however, the woman raised her hand, fist clenched. Viktor shouted in alarm as Yuuri staggered to the ground, sword falling from his hand. The woman laughed triumphantly, taking another step forward before Viktor blocked her path.

“Viktor… run. Leave me.” Yuuri choked.

“Like hell I will.” Viktor picked up the fallen sword, holding it out before him in challenge. He’d never gone beyond training and friendly duels, but may god himself be damned if he was going to abandon Yuuri!

“How touching.” The woman spoke, an edge of annoyance on her voice. The woman looked exhausted, sweating beads and bags beneath her eyes. But when she pulled her own sword and it glowed a dark, mystifying black, Viktor knew he was outmatched. 

“It is  _ quite  _ the honor to meet you, Prince Viktor.” She said with a laugh. “My name is Lilia. Please prepare yourself to die.”

Viktor tensed slightly but held his resolve, and the woman named Lilia laughed once more, taking a step forward. She was confident that she could beat him, and he was at a loss of what to do. But he would not back down. He would  _ never  _ back down.

“I will relish cutting you open like the animal you are.” She said. “You were not worth the trouble I went through.”

“The king is dead… please, I beg of you; leave us be.” Yuuri was struggling to his knees, rasping out a plea of mercy. Lilia scoffed, a scowl stretching across her face as she began to speak.

“Is he, now?” She asked in a mocking tone. “That’s wonderful. But I’ve come here for both of your heads. You, Prince Viktor, stand in my way to exact revenge against this insolent welp. He has impeded me for the last time! But what better way than to make him suffer by watching helplessly as you’re tortured to death? I will savor this moment forever.”

She began to walk forward, about to close the distance between them with her raised sword before a sound in the forest cut her off. Rushing footsteps from behind her, and Viktor looked to see who it was just in time to see Lilia dodge the incoming attack. 

“Mari!” Viktor called out in shock.

“Child, you are no match against me.” Lilia said, and Viktor could hear the sneer in her voice. But an idea came to him, and he smiled. 

Sword raised, he stepped forward and slashed Lilia’s back. The woman gasped in pain, falling to her knees, and then to the ground as she tried to clutch her dimming sword for support. Immediately, blood began to spill and pooled around her, and she coughed, trying to make words but failing. Viktor marched forward, never before feeling such resolution to take another’s life. He lifted his sword once more and slammed it down into her chest.

“What was it you said? Never turn your back on enemy.” Mari said with a sneer.

“Thank god you made it,” Yuuri was standing now, seemingly recovered, and he ran forward and pulled Viktor and Mari into a hug. Viktor can’t help the tears that fall down his face, one last hurdled conquered. This was it, wasn’t it?

“Where’s Yurochka?” Yuuri asked as they all came back from the hug.

“My face is wanted now,” Mari informed them. “I told Yurochka to find our parents and tell them to hide; I wasn’t sure if I could make it there. He should be with us soon.”

“Can he be trusted with something like that?” Yuuri asked, and Mari nodded.

“He helped save our lives and he killed the king. And Lilia is dead. For now, we trust him.”

They waited patiently now, and Viktor looked off towards the city walls, expecting to see Yurochka at any minute. Instead, he heard more footsteps from the same direction Mari had come. Viktor tensed, but let himself relax once he saw Yurochka approaching, his helm held under his arm.

“I’m so glad you all are safe.” He said, smiling uncharacteristically as he approached. He paused though in shock, looking down to Lilia’s corpse.

“She’s…?”

“Dead. Killed by my hand.” Viktor stated. 

Yurochka breathed a sigh relief, shaking his head as he spit in her direction. “Good. She had it coming for a long time now.”

“Did you know Lilia?” Viktor asked in confusion, and Yurochka nodded solemnly. He calmly explained to Viktor what Mari and Yuuri had surely gathered already; he explained that Lilia had been blackmailing him to usher Mari and Yuuri into a trap, once she realized he was the only knight aware of Yuuri’s existence in the castle. He had some shreds of honor, however, and tried to create a caveat in the deal they had struck. He killed the king, but in doing so provided Viktor with his distraction to save Mari and Yuuri.

“After hearing all of that,” Mari pushed herself off the tree she’d been leaning on. “I can’t quite bring myself to hate you.”

“You don’t need to pity me.” Yurochka said, looking down at his feet. “If you can’t forgive me, then just admit it.”

“No, I forgive you.” She said with conviction, and Yurochka looked up in surprise.

“I forgive you too.” Yuuri said, smiling towards Yurochka. He held his head down once more, blushing with embarrassment and happiness.

“Th… thank you.” He said before clearing his throat. “My offer still stands; I can take you to my family’s farm. We would have to walk, but there are several towns on the way where we can rest. We might even be able to rent a carriage.”

Yurochka eyed Viktor’s jewelry, and reflexively he clutched his hand against his neck. Well… for the sake of comfort, he wouldn’t mind selling them off. After this, he would no longer be a prince. Hell, he might even be wanted. But this was the life he was willing to sacrifice everything for—and he would stand by it. Even… if it meant selling his jewelry.

“Lead the way, then.” Yuuri said. “I’m sick of this place and I can’t wait to be rid of it. I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels this way.”

“Oh, no, the feeling is  _ very  _ mutual.” Viktor said with emphasis, and the group of them laughed. 

Viktor bit his lip in anticipation as Yurochka began to lead them through the forest, ensuring them that there was a road nearby that would lead them on their way. This was it, then, wasn’t it? Had this horrible fate of tragedy and death finally come to an end? His father, the perpetrator of most of this suffering was dead, and finally no more enemies stood to block their way. Finally he was getting his happy ending.

Then what was this feeling of apprehension that threatened to consume him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so concludes the first ark of their story. Here comes a well-deserved rest.


	13. Intermission: Repose

Yuuri is the first one to notice. He had no particular reason to glance backwards, aside from his ever present anxiety. He didn’t hear the carriage approaching, but he turned to face it nonetheless.

“Careful,” He put his hand out to halt the others, who stopped to see what had caught his attention. Mari and Yurochka both went at guard, hands on the hilt of their weapons with actually drawing. Viktor stopped as well, obviously tense, but also obviously unaware of why everyone else had ceased walking.

As the carriage stopped being a speck in the distance to being close enough to hear hoof beats, Yuuri prayed that the carriage would pass them by in peace, but as the driver began to slow upon nearing them, his hope vanished.

An elderly man with a straw hat and dirty and tired clothes looked down at them, smiling.

“I don’t suppose you all are heading to Hadencraft, hm? I just so happen to be making a delivery there myself, straight from my farm. I’ve got room in the back, no need to worry about pay.”

“How kind of—” As Viktor began to speak, Mari stepped forward and cut him off.

“Sorry, but we’re going to have to decline.” She said tersely. The old man adjusted his hat, and Yuuri waited with bated breath for something to happen. Instead the old man shrugged and adjusted his reigns.

“Suit yourself.” With that, he urged his horses into motion. Yuuri let out a sigh once the carriage was out of earshot.

“What was all that about?” Viktor asked as Mari relaxed as well.

“That could have been a painful trap.” Mari explained, shaking her head as she urged everyone to keep walking. “What if that was a spy sent from Atleaus to track our whereabouts? We have to be on edge.”

“I half expected knights to burst out of the back of the carriage.” Yurochka admitted.

“I… suppose you’re right. I hadn’t thought of it like that.” Viktor said.

“You can’t be too trusting. We can’t afford to accept kindness from random strangers, not until the dust has settles and whatever is going to happen happens.” Yuuri explained.

“Of course, of course, I understand now.” He said with a wave of his hand, adjusting his plain collar. He was forced to abandon most of his princely attire—his cape and decorated vest would make him stand out too much. He had to settle for wearing the simple undershirt and slacks while Yuuri carried all of his jewelry. Yurochka was in much the similar situation as well. His entire armor set was discarded, leaving him in mostly his under clothes, without even shoes to protect his feet. Viktor offered up his cloak until they could both find reasonable clothing. Mari, at least, had her prisoner’s slops still and forlorn cloak to keep her covered.

But their walk was not a short one; for most of the day they kept walking, taking short intermittent breaks here and there. By the time they arrived at the village, it was late afternoon, bordering on evening.

“Finally…” Yurochka said, leaning upon a fence post to rest his feet.

“What do we do from here?” Yuuri asked once everyone released their built up tension. “We would look suspicious selling this jewelry in bulk. People would accuse us of thievery.”

“I think I have an idea.” Mari rubbed her chin, eyeing Yurochka.

“What? Why are you looking at me?” The latter asked with an exasperated glare.

“Here, give me that cape.” She said, hand out.

“What? I’m in nothing but my shorts and shirt right now!” He said abashedly.

“So are those children playing over there,” She gestured towards a well a ways off, near the center of the town. Children, likely poor, were playing in ragged clothing, chasing each other with sticks and rocks.

“So what, I’m no child.” He stated, crossing his arms.

“But you look like one.” She countered.

“I think I see what you mean.” Yuuri said, reaching down to cup a handful of dirt. Viktor and Yurochka watched in confusion as the two siblings shared a knowing look before approaching the younger boy.

\- - -

Yurochka rubbed the dirt from his cheeks, only succeeding in smudging it more. It was embarrassing to be in nothing but his under clothes (now graciously smeared in dirt) but he supposed it was a necessary evil. Still, he was going to be pissed about it. He glared daggers out the door towards Mari and Yuuri as he entered the shop, before getting into character as the poor boy he was supposed to be playing.

“’Scuse me, sir.” Yurochka said as he approached the counter. The goldsmith turned from the shelf behind him, about to greet him pleasantly before a scowl covered his face.

“I thought I told you children I’m a smithy, not your little playtime friends.” He said, adjusting his eye piece.

“Y-Yes, I know but,” He reached into his pocked hurriedly, presenting the gleaming gold ring with its precious gem in the center.  The shopkeeper’s expression instantly brightened to awe as he reached out, just shy of taking the ring.

“Where did you get this?” The older man began reaching around his desk area, eventually finding a magnifier and urging Yurochka to hand him the ring.

“My ma’ said to walk to town and get rid of this old thing. It’s an heirloom, but we’d rather have money for food.”

The shopkeeper cleared his throat, trying to keep his composure as he gently took the ring and began to inspect it.

“Well, as it has not been receiving the proper care and the gem is slightly tarnished, I’m afraid I can only offer you 50 silver pieces for this.”

Yurochka had to hold back his sneer as he feigned confusion.

“Only 50? Ma’ said it’ll go for more… oh well, I’ll go home and tell her it isn’t—”

“A-Ah, wait there young man. I just adjusted my goggles… yes, forgive me, but perhaps this is worth about one gold piece…?”

“Hmm…I dunno. It’s getting late, I should be going.”

“Three gold pieces! I simply must have this ring.”

“Okay!” Yurochka gladly accepted the man’s offer, pocketing the gold pieces and leaving as the man began to fawn over the ring.

He left the shop, looking around carefully before heading over to the group, frowning as he held out the coins.

“Nice! We’ll have more than enough for an inn and some clothing.” Mari said as she took the coins.

“You can thank me later. Or right now, considering _I’m_ the one who had to go out in his under wear to sell off a silly little ring. Why couldn’t one of you sell it again?”

“We told you, you’d garner less suspicion. But thank you nonetheless.” Yuuri said with a smile and a nonchalant shrug. Yurochka huffed and glared daggers at the former.

“You’re welcome. Let’s get to the inn already, it’s starting to get chilly and I want some real clothes.”

“Right; we learned that there’s an inn not too far from here. We should be able to rest for the night before moving on,” Viktor said as he began to walk in the direction of the inn, offering Yurochka his cape once more. “How far from here is your family anyway?”

“Not far; they should still deliver goods to this town from time to time.” He gratefully took the cape and shrugged it around his shoulders, looking in the direction of the distant sunset. The inn was a good walk from where they entered the town, but it wasn’t hard to keep up small talk. Yurochka knew they weren’t out of the fire yet, but his mind had been too stressed to take it anymore. He couldn’t help this disarming feeling that made him want to relax. Just for a moment, just for now. Everyone was talking, and although there was an air of caution, there were unforced, unstressed smiles. He smiled too.

“What do we say to the innkeep once we get in?” Yuuri asked everyone. “We look too… odd to be a family.”

“We’re just travelers. Let’s hope they don’t ask any questions, but if they do, we’re travelers.” Mari said before opening the front door. A bell rung, and a small old woman who’d been dozing at the front desk perked up and smiled over at them.

“Welcome to Hadencraft Inn. Rooms are ten bronze pieces a night, an extra ten for breakfast and clothing.”

“Wonderful. Can we exchange this gold piece?” Mari said, holding out a single piece.

“Certainly!” The woman’s smile widened as she ducked under her desk to retrieve extra coins. She handed back to Mari a mixture of silver and bronze coins before hopping off her chair and opening a door.

“Right this way, please. I have two rooms for the four of you, with clothing as well.”

Everyone shared a glance of relief; finally, they could truly rest. Yurochka didn’t realize how fatigued he was—how much his feet hurt and his legs ached—until it all set in at once. Once the door to the room was open, he immediately ran at the nearest bed, plopping down against it.

“Someone will be by shortly to bring your clothing.”

“Thank you,” Mari said as she entered the room, seconds away from copying Yurochka.

“Now, if you two will follow me to the next room,” The old woman gestured for Viktor and Yuuri. Once the door was closed, Mari walked over to her bed and sat down, sighing. Yurochka paid little mind when someone knocked on their door, letting Mari handle it as she grabbed their new set of clothing. She set down his pair on his bed before going back and sitting down herself.

“Yurochka?” Mari asked after sometime.

“…” Silence from him.

“Are you still awake?”

“No.” Came Yurochka’s muffled reply.

“I’ve just been thinking… I was so tired before all of this, but now that we can finally rest, I don’t feel quite as sleepy anymore. There’s so much on my mind; so much has happened.”

“Yeah, _obviously_.” Yurochka huffed as he turned his head to face Mari. Though he didn’t share her sentiment of being unable to fall asleep, there was no denying that his mind had been endlessly running up until this point.

“But it’ll do you no good staying up and thinking about everything. You’ll just be unbelievably tired tomorrow.”

“I know that, _dummy_. But I just feel like talking to someone, and I know Viktor and Yuuri are probably making out by now.”

“Ugh, gross?” Yurochka lifted his head and made to throw it at Mari, but stopped halfway when she flinched and smiled. “What do you even want to talk about anyway?”

“I don’t know; anything.” She said dismissively, and Yurochka clicked his tongue.

‘As if I have any conversation ideas’ Yes, that’s what he wanted to say. But there was one thing he wanted to ask her.

“Why don’t you hate Viktor?” He asked. As he expected, Mari gave him a shocked expression.

“Where is that coming from?” She returned, and Yurochka shrugged.

“Just curious. You said you wanted to talk, right?”

Mari sighed, shifting on the bed so as to bring her knees up.

“I did hate him at first. I blamed him for Yuuri’s death, and I was so convinced that he’d been using Yuuri and felt nothing. That it was all a formality, like it is with all nobility. Really, I was just heartbroken. I couldn’t get over my brother’s death, not when there were so many things I wanted to say to him, and so many things I could have done. But when I found out how he genuinely cared… I couldn’t bring myself to hate him anymore. Even if he is a naïve prince, he’s a naïve prince who cared.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. I thought he was just like his father, at first, and that all the fake smiles were to win people over. But it turned out he was just a softie. The kind of person who… really, you feel almost obliged to help him out because of how genuine and trusting he is.”

“Right?” Mari said with a laugh. “Mostly… I’m elated right now. Against all odds, my brother is alive and smiling again. It still feels like I’m dreaming. But even so, I want to protect what’s going on right now. This fleeting feeling of peace… I want to protect it with my life.”

\- - -

When Yuuri opened his eyes, it was still dark in the room. There was nary a sound around him, save for the soft breathing next to him that reminded him he was safe.

“Are you awake?” Viktor’s sleepy voice broke the air around them, and Yuuri looked up to the crystal blue eyes before him, slightly illuminated by the moonlight.

“A little.” Yuuri responded, leaning into Viktor’s hold around his waist as he pressed his face into Viktor’s bare chest and sighed and closed his eyes, simply listening to his beloved’s heartbeat.

“I just had a dream,” Viktor said as he pulled Yuuri closer, resting his chin atop his head. “Do you want to know what it was about?”

“Tell me.”

“You were there, and you gave me your sketchbook. I drew a picture of you, but it was pretty terrible. You took the picture and said it was beautiful, and I told you not to lie for my sake. But when you gave the paper back to me, the image had transformed to a magic scene. People were dancing and laughing at a ball, and it all looked so real, as if they were about to step out of the picture. I tried to show you, but I woke up before you could see it.”

“That sounds… amazing.” Yuuri said between a yawn.

“What was your dream about?” Viktor asked.

“I don’t really remember my dreams anymore. Or I don’t have any.” Yuuri admitted. “Honestly, I hardly sleep anymore.”

“Then we’ll have to make dreams—waking dreams, not the short-lived kind.” Viktor’s voice grew more husky, sleepy as pressed a light kiss to Yuuri’s head.

“How romantic of you.” Yuuri replied, and he began to follow suit; he let the surmounting stress and anxiety take over him. Where once he could find solace in staying awake, now all he wanted to do was sleep.

-

A light knock at the door was more than enough to rouse Yuuri. He stayed in that limbo space between sleep and the waking world, not quite sure what was going on or what he was hearing. He should go back to sleep, he thought. But when the knocking came once again, this time much more persistent, he groaned and rolled over.

“Ow.” Yuuri said flatly, tugging his arm from beneath Viktor. It had fallen asleep and he shook the numbing feeling from his hand as he sat up.

“Stay.” Viktor reached out, tugging Yuuri by the wrist back down in the bed. Yuuri smiled, gently pulling his hand back to caress Viktor’s.

“There’s someone at the door.” He explained, and Viktor groaned and turned his face into the pillow.

Yuuri quickly grabbed his shirt and pants from the floor as another knock sounded, calling for them to wait a moment. After his clothes were on, he opened the door to be greeted by a young man holding a tray with two plates. It was a simple assortment of porridge, eggs, and bread for each platter.

“Good morning sir; your meals have arrived.”

“Thank you so much.” Yuuri said as took the tray graciously. He walked back over to the bed and set the tray down on a nearby bedside table. Viktor began to sit up finally, rubbing his eyes and stretching.

“Is that food I smell?” He asked as he glanced over blearily. “Did they not bring a table for us? Where am I supposed to set the plate.”

“Just put it in your lap.” Yuuri handed Viktor his plate. For the most part Yuuri ignored his own plate; he hadn’t had the temptation to eat for a long time since dying, and nothing had changed since then.

“What is… _this_?” Yuuri looked back to see Viktor spooning through the porridge with a look of disgust.

“It’s porridge.” Yuuri answered.

Viktor lifted a spoonful and gave it sniff before carefully having a taste. He dropped the spoon back into the bowl and gagged.

“It’s absolutely flavorless! Aren’t there any spices around here?”

“Spices and salt are pretty expensive, Viktor.” Yuuri pointed out, but he went largely ignored.

“And where’s the meat? And why serve us bread if there isn’t any cheese, let alone some kind of jam or spread. The only thing edible on this plate is the eggs but… I never eat the yolk.”

“Viktor, this is only an inn. We don’t really have the money to be picky right now. It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

Viktor whined slightly but picked up the porridge spoon once more, taking another spoonful and grimacing dramatically. At this, Yuuri rolled his eyes and crawled across the bed until he was sitting next to Viktor.

“Give me this.” He took Viktor’s fork and knife and began to cut at the egg—around the yolk. He then took the slice of bread and dipped it into the porridge to gain spoon out a hefty amount before placing the white of the eggs on top.

“Say ‘ah.’” He held the bread out in front of Viktor’s face.

“What did you do?” The latter asked, and Yuuri sighed.

“Nothing special, it might taste better is all.”

Viktor eyed the bread before him as if it were poisoned before slowly leaning forward to take a bite.

“This is… edible.” He said with a full mouth, taking the bread from Yuuri’s hand to munch on it quietly.

“I suppose we’ll have to find someone to teach you how to cook.” Yuuri sat back, smiling that he at least got Viktor to eat in earnest.

“When you finish eating, you should get dressed. I’m sure Mari and Yurochka want to get moving just as soon as we do.” Yuuri slid off the bed and began to adjust his clothes; properly buttoning his hastily done shirt and fixing his pants.

“Aren’t you going to eat as well?” Viktor asked, and Yuuri faltered for just a moment.

“I don’t really… need to eat anymore.” He said, keeping his face hidden. Not another word passed as Viktor silently finished his meal before getting dressed. Yuuri could feel the slight tension in the air, and could only hope that it would fade, or that he could will it away. He sat down on the bed, looking out the window to the awakening and bustling town outside as Viktor began to get dressed with the clothes the inn provided.

“Are you all ready, then?” Yuuri asked once Viktor finished awkwardly buttoning his shirt.

“These clothes are very… strange. But yes, I’m ready.”

“Then we should go get—” Yuuri stopped himself as he heard knocking at the door. “That must be her.” He stood and walked over to the door. He opened the door, and unsurprisingly there stood his sister, smiling in her quaint inn clothing.

“I figured you two were up. Come on, Yurochka really wants us to hit the road. He says it’s not far.”

“Let’s get a move on then.” Viktor said with a smile. When they left the room and walked down the hallway, they found Yurochka already waiting for them in the inn’s main room.

“What took you so long?” He asked, jumping up as soon as he saw them. “The road isn’t going to walk itself.”

“Of course not, but you seem excited.” Mari noted as they began for the door.

“Well of course I am. I haven’t been home in ages. I’ve been cooped up in that jail of a royal city. Just wait until you have my mother’s cooking.”

“Your mother cooks, does she? Tell me it’s something besides porridge.” Viktor said, and Yuuri nudged him and shook his head.

They were heading down the town’s main avenue now, a slight pep in their step from being well-rested, well-fed, and newly liberated. Yurochka was going on with interesting stories about his family and the farm, talking of his siblings and his parents as they eventually began to near the shopping district, where mainly food and coin were passing between hands.

“You might find my mother kind of smothering,” Yurochka explained, walking backwards with just the tiniest pep in his step. “But she means well, and—”

“Yurochka, behind you!” Yuuri called out as a man came from behind a horse-drawn cart, carrying large sacks of grain and unable to see Yurochka. Yuuri winced as the latter bumped into the man, causing both of them to stumble and the stranger to drop his bag. The man looked up stoically towards the group.

“It would be nice if you could look where you’re going…” He said, but his words trailed off and his expression turned to shock.

“I could say the same you—Otabek?!” Yurochka mirrored his surprised, smiling, as he reached to help up this man, Otabek.

“You two know each other?” Mari asked, to which Yurochka nodded. “His farm is near my family’s. He makes deliveries to town for us.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you went off to work at the castle.” Otabek said, and Yurochka shrugged.

“It’s a long story, but I’m trying to bring these guys home. I can tell you on the way if you can give us a ride.”

“Of course. But I need to make sure this grain gets delivered. Wait here.”

“Small world, isn’t it?” Viktor said to Yurochka as Otabek walked away, sacks of grain in hand.

“No; this isn’t too surprising. He makes deliveries once every two weeks. It’s luck, mostly.” He responded flippantly.

“Thank goodness we don’t need to walk.” Yuuri commented, and Yurochka scoffed.

“You’re not the one who was walking _barefoot_ the entire time. I don’t want to hear you complain.”

Otabek returned to their lot, dusting off his hands as he walked up to the front of the cart and climbed up.

“There’s plenty of room in the back.” He called back, and Yurochka wasted no time opening the doors clambering up, followed by the rest. Once everyone was settled, Otabek whipped the reins and they began to move at a steady pace; graciously faster than walking speed. Otabek looked over his shoulder towards the small window that viewed into the back storage compartment.

“So, are you going to introduce me to everyone?” Otabek asked as they began on the main road, heading out where small peasant houses were turning into wide fields and a lake.

“Oh, right,” Yurochka said before gesturing to Viktor. “This is the Prince of Atleaus, Viktor Nikiforov.”

“Excuse me?” Otabek visibly stiffened before turning back a glare. “Very funny; who is he really?”

“Er, he’s not lying, I promise you.” Viktor said with a bashful smile.

“I guess news really hasn’t spread this far out, yet.” Mari commented.

“What news?” Otabek asked, and Yurochka shushed him.

“I’ll explain when we arrive. This—” He gestured now to Yuuri. “Is Yuuri. Viktor’s lover or whatever. He’s dead and has come back to life.”

“Yurochka, I don’t think it’s okay to simply drop all of that on a person so suddenly…” Yuuri said, and to no surprise, Otabek was no longer paying attention to the road and was looking back at everyone with a look of real consternation, as if trying to discern the point of such a joke. Self-consciously, Yuuri lifted the collar of his shirt to cover his scar.

“And this Mari, she’s Yuuri’s sister.” Yurochka said finally.

“…” Otabek waited.

“She’s a witch. They’re both witches, I think.”

“My god…” Otabek turned back to the road, shaking his head. “This had better be a joke.”

“I’ll explain everything once we’re home. For now, is it too much to ask for your trust?”

Otabek was silent for a moment, and the atmosphere of the cart turned tense.

“I know you, Yurochka, and this hardly seems like one of your pranks. You’re usually more creative. I believe you, but I’d like the full story as soon as we stop.”

“Of course, I’ll tell you everything.” Yurchka sat back, breathing out a sigh of relief. “The full story is much more interesting anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm truly sorry this chapter took such a long time to come out, but I've been struggling with writer's block and depression ever since the passing of a close family member. I do hope to continue a steady schedule once more, now that I'm feeling better.


	14. Intermission: Stirring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We return to peace, high hopes, and the threat of assassination.

Nobility. Michele figured that when peasants thought of nobility, they pictured only high-class individuals in expensive silken clothing, conversing of only the most niche of topics and sharing knowledge. Well, they would be half-right.

The reality is that when the nobility came together, they were always one step of away from crying and screaming to get their way, one moment from tearing off powdered wigs and expensive jewelry to yell and shout. It was the king who kept them in check and made sure they never stepped out of place. While they tended to get zealous with their exploits, his highness turned a blind eye so long as they did not threaten the equilibrium of Atleaus.

But the king is dead, Michele thought as a shiver ran through him. He had been tuning out the current speaker; he would rather be lost in his own mind than listening to whatever drivel excuse some rival house could come up with. Despite the handful of sensible voices that called for emergency tactics, there were too many nobility obsessed with one thing and one thing only; who would be the next ruler. Right now, everyone was making their case.

“Our king is dead, assassinated by rivals who would see us scurry in a panic. But under me I can assure the people safety and peace. I rule over the western lands; my people are happy, therefore I can make _Atleaus_ happy. My influence has spread far outside my realms, I will have no issue asserting—”

“But what relation do you have to the king?” Interrupted an elderly noble. “I am his cousin, while it may not be his will, it is my god given right to rule in his footsteps.”

“But as you said, it is not the king’s will.” A female noble commented, fanning herself. “He willed that his son take the throne.”

At this, the first speaker scoffed.

“Prince Viktor? He has likely met the same fate as his late father.”

“I beg to differ. His kidnappers took him for a reason—ransom. Our responsibilities should not be to cast all hope for our lord’s son out the door, but to ensure his safe return! They will make their demands, and we should use the royal treasury to furnish them.”

Michele sighed as once again, the talks broke down into arguments of people yelling over each other. It would be impossible to convince any of these nitwits to hear the case he was supposed to provide for his father. While sickness kept him from being mobile from time to time, he had still undoubtedly been one of the king’s advisors, and therefore more than qualified to lead in his stead until the prince had been found, dead or alive.

But more and more it was beginning to look hopeless. Atleaus would fall at this rate—the nobility are too egotistic to make the right decision. It would be like the warring era of long ago, the times before kingship as his father told him.

The lands of Atleaus and its surroundings were ruled several rich houses. While each lands had boundaries that belonged to each noble, they still came together to rule as a republic. But as time went on, the nobility’s desire to expand their lands grew too strong, and they began to strike out in small battles. It wasn’t until one noble lord conquered all the lands and decided to put a stop to the fighting all for once. The king. The nobility’s armies were seized and all the lands were untied into one—Atleaus, with the capital city sharing the same name. The nobility were allowed to keep their wealth and rank, along with holding lordship over small lands, but the king undecidedly held all the power. Generation to generation, this cycle held true…

Until now.  Assassins were no uncommon enemy, but for the king and his successor to disappear at once was rare, especially since he had been unable to name backup heirs in case of this very moment. Now they were at a loss with arguments, and Michele feared that history was close to repeating itself.

No, it wasn’t a fear but a premonition; these petty fools would go to war if it meant they could be king.

The meeting came to its eventual end, but no success had been made in declaring a ruler. No, at the end of the meeting a map of Atleaus had been taken out. They were petty and greedy, but also smart. Each noble took an ink quill to the map to clearly mark out their claimed territory, Michele included. When they left this hall, it would not be as peers, but as lords preparing to defend their lands. The mercenaries that were hired under their houses were now soldiers paid to fight for their lives. Peasants working the lord’s fields were now civilians as well. Atleaus’ capital would be seeing hell soon, and by the end of the day, it may not even be called “Atleaus” anymore.

\- - -

“Yuri!”

“Yes?” Two heads perked with a simultaneous reply. Yurochka’s mother blinked in surprise before realizing what was going on.

“Not you.” Yurochka turned to Yuuri, frowning.

“But… my name is Yuuri.” He said, confused.

“Is it, now?” Yurochka’s mother hummed, setting down a covered tray on the table. “What are the odds?”

“Just call me Yurochka, mom.” He insisted, settling down in the dining room chair.

“Yurochka, Yuri, Yuuri, augh, how frustrating.” Came Mari’s voice as she entered the room. She took a seat next to Yuuri glancing over to Yurochka. “How about we just call _you_ Yurio instead? It’s shorter than Yurochka.”

“No. I refuse to be—” But he was cut off abruptly

“Yurio? I like Yurio!” Yurochka’s little sister, Irina, was bouncing in her chair, beaming up to her brother whose scowl ever deepened.

“Yurio? How adorable.” His mother came up behind him, ruffling his hair. “Now, go set the table for our guests…” She paused, smiling. “Yurio.”

Without a comprehensible word, but with plenty of annoyed grumbling, Yurochka… Yurio stood up from his seat and marched out of the room.

“He’s still so full of energy.” His mother said offhandedly, taking a seat at the table where Yurio sat. “I’m glad he hasn’t changed from my stubborn little boy. It’s so nice that they finally let him visit.”

Yuuri smiled, but shared a look with Mari across the room; they had figured it best not to implicate Yurio’s family when news of what had happened in the capital hadn’t spread this far.

“And don’t you three worry your little heads.” She stood up now, brushing off her apron as she went back into the kitchen. “You’re free to stay here until you get back on your feet.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Mari said with a smile. “But we don’t want to impose.”

“In that case,” A gruff voice came from the doorway leading into the hall, and older man, Yurio’s father, strode into the room. “We’ll have to put you to work, won’t we?”

“What kind of work?” Yuuri perked up, hearing Viktor’s voice as he came into the room behind the older gentleman, a heavy sack in his arms.

“Set that down over there.” Yurio’s father said, and Viktor rushed to the corner of the room to set it down, making a show of sighing and complaining about its heaviness.

“I have a brother a little ways down the road, he can find a place for you to stay, so long as you’re willing to work.”

“What… What kind of wo—” Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s hand as he spoke, leading him down into a chair.

“We would be honored for any kind of work.” Yuuri said, giving Viktor a little smile, who was frowning down at him.

“Freeloaders.” Yurio mumbled as he reentered the room, stacks of plates and utensils in his hands.

“Don’t be rude.” His mother said offhandedly from the kitchen. “Will Otabek be joining us tonight?”

“No,” Yurio said, setting down plates. “He said he had to go home.”

Once he was done he took his seat across from his younger sister, mood obviously lightening has mother came in with the last dish, setting it in the middle of the table.

“Everything smells so good…” Viktor said, a happy smile on his face as if he’d never eating, but Yuuri shook his head and tugged on Viktor’s hand once more.

“Not yet,” He said with a laugh. “We have to say grace.”

“Hm?” He asked, but before he got his answer, Mari took his other hand. Yuuri could see the surprised expression on Viktor’s face as everyone else closed their eyes, head bowed, but he was quick to the catch on and followed suit. Yuuri joined them soon after, his mind blank for a few moments. Before his life had went to hell, he would pray without thought, wholly devoted without question. Now he found himself a bitter atheist with no deity to offer thanks, for what god would punish him so cruelly, so blindly?

But still, rising in his heart was a feeling of gratitude. To no one in particular, he gave silent thank you to whatever string of fate, whatever coincidental step deigned to see that he wouldn’t be forever forgotten to time.

“Help yourselves, everyone.” Yurio’s mother, who’d been holding his hand let go and began to serve her plate.

“Here, Viktor, I’ll serve you.” Yuuri said, taking his plate and waiting for the servings to come around his way. “What would you like?”

“A little bit of everything… sounds nice.” Viktor said quietly, obviously trying to restrain himself. Yuuri couldn’t help but to smile as he loaded the plate up. He served himself as well, not wanting to seem rude since he couldn’t explain his situation. He could still eat, even if it was for looks and not to sustain himself. Soon, the table was quiet save for the offhanded remark of the delicious food or idle chatter. As Yuuri was beginning to eat, and he was sure the food must have been good… but it tasted like ashes on his tongue, and it was all he could do to swallow. Just as he went in for another bite, he could feel Viktor leaning close to him, a quiet whisper against his ear.

“Why was everyone closing their eyes earlier?” He asked, soft enough for only Yuuri to hear. He was unsurprised to hear this question, knowing that Viktor mostly ate a lone, as he hadn’t the family to share it with. He knew not what customs nobility and royalty held for royal balls, but prayer was obviously not one of them.

“People tend to pray before big meals as thanks for receiving food.” Yuuri answered. “Many people don’t know when their next meal will be, so they offer thanks when it happens.”

“I see…” Viktor said, contemplative.

Soon dinner finished, and as Yurio and his younger sister collected platers, his mother came up to them, dusting her hands on her apron.

“Unfortunately the only place for you all is the barn outback. We don’t have anymore spare beds. I could have made do with something, had my wild son let me know he was bringing guests.”

“We’re thankful for anything.” Mari said with a smile.

“Follow me then. Get some good sleep, it sounds like you’ll have a busy day tomorrow.” Yurio’s mother said as she began to lead them out back.

\- - -

Back on the road once more, Viktor found himself excited at the prospects of seeing the sea. The town of Blueport sat on the coast of Atleaus’ biggest body of water, the Tempest Sea. It was some ways past Yurio’s family farm, through a light forest and a passing of hills. Then, built into the descent of the hills Viktor could see Blueport in all its glory, and the beautiful sea beyond it with a beautiful sunrise illuminating the waters.

“Wow!” Viktor was leaning out the cart’s window now to get a better look, a wide smile on his face as they approached the city proper. The early morning was giving way to the hustle and bustle of sailors returning with the morning catch and setting up of shops. People walked carelessly in between horses or carts, accustomed to the morning rush. Viktor was amazed at how lively the world could be, how beautiful even the quaint things could be.

“If you fall out, I won’t stop for you.” Otabek said under his breath, hands pulling back on the reins to slow down. Viktor paid him little mind, instead looking back as Yuuri peaked out the window beside Viktor, looking down the long main road that descended the hill, giving way to the Tempest sea.

“It’s beautiful… I’ve never seen so much water.” Yuuri said. Viktor turned to look at him; from this angle he could not see his face, but his outline was illuminated by the warm rising sun, lighting up each strand of hair as the wind played through it. With the ocean in the background, it was almost like a moving painting, and Viktor could suddenly understand where the inspiration to paint came from.

“We’re here.” Yurio said, tapping Viktor. “Enough ogling—you look like tourists! Did you forget you’re here to work?”

“I can’t help it… this place is beautiful.” Viktor said as he hopped down from the cart, shoes clicking against the brick-inlaid roads as he looked around. Yuuri, Yurio, and Mari followed, though Otabek stayed in his seat.

“Show them to Tom, he’ll know what to do.” Otabek said. “I have to pick something up from the docks. Meet me back here in an hour and I’ll take you home.”

Yurio nodded once, waving Otabek off.

“In here,” Yurio said, waving everyone to follow him. With a glance up, Viktor saw that it was a shop of some kind—Tom’s General Shoppe.

Once inside, Yurio led them past row after row of goods, Viktor of course took his time gawking at every single thing. They came to a counter with a woman behind it.

“Oh, Yurochka! It’s so good to see you, again. Back in town Sir _Royal Knight_?”

“Uh, yeah.” Yurio said, scratching the back of his head and quick to change the subject. “Is Tom around? I have some freeloaders that need to be put to work."

“He’s in the back, I’ll go fetch him for you.” She said, ducking behind a doorway and into a backroom. Soon emerged a tall, surly man with blonde hair. He regarded Yurio warmly before turning to greet everyone else.

“Millie told me you had guests that needed to be put to work,” Tom began, rubbing his chin. “Not bright-eyed tourists. You two look as if you’ve hardly stepped outside, let alone done labor.”

Viktor shared a look with Yuuri, almost offended, before Tom turned to Mari.

“You, however, look promising.”

“Well they can’t stay with me,” Yurio said, crossing his arms. “They need their own place to stay.”

“I heard the first time.” Tom said as he leaned against the shop’s counter. “You there, light-haired fella. What are you good at?”

“Me? Well, yes, I…” Assisted patricide didn’t count as a skill, did it? Nor, he doubted, did being a former stubborn prince. “Hm.”

“We’ve been needing a shop hand for a while now.” The woman, Millie said as she emerged from the backroom with a basket full of foodstuffs in her hand.

“That settles that.” Tom turned to Mari now. “You look strong.”

“That’s because I am strong.” Mari said with no low amount of pride. Viktor knew that she was a capable knight—and that she had sunken into training upon being enlisted.

“The pier is always need of lifters and packers.” Tom said, clapping his hands on the counter as he stood up straight. “Who knows, you may even work your way up to sailor. Head down to the pier any time you like and tell them Tom sent you.”

“A sailor…” Mari’s eyes brightened as she looked off, hand on her chin and apparently liking the idea.

“And how about you, young lad? I see your hands have seen work, but you look about as weak as they come.”

“Thank you…?” Yuuri said questioningly, before realizing Tom was asking where his interests lie. “I’m a pretty boring person, you can put me wherever…”

Viktor rolled his eyes and placing an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder as he piped up before Tom could.

“Yuuri’s an artist—a painter! And a very good one at that.”

Yuuri turned to Viktor, jaw agape as Tom began to think it over.

“Funny you should mention it, there’s an artisan here in Blueport that mixes high quality paints and whatnot. Tests them too—I’ll put in a recommendation for you. But she won’t accept you if your skills aren’t up to boot. Come to me with a piece of work, and if she likes you, you’ve got yourself a steady income, son.”

“Thank you so much,” Yuuri said, bowing deeply as Tom laughed.

“Don’t mention it kid.”

“Tom, don’t forget to point them to the tenant’s district,” Millie said as she returned behind the counter.

“Ah, right.” Tom moved from behind the counter, gesturing for everyone to follow as he moved outside the shop.

“There’s new buildings down by the coast called tenant houses. They let you live there so long as you pay by the month.” Tom reached into his overall pockets to fish out a piece of graphite and some paper. Using the wall of the shop as a surface he scribbled something down before handing it to Mari. “These are the directions. Just follow the main road then start following this parchment and you’ll get there easy. Oh, and this,”

Tom reached back and pulled something else from his pocket—two gold coins.

“What’s this for?” Mari asked, but accepted it nonetheless.

“Consider it a loan for your rent. You all can pay me back once you’re right and settled in your home. And young man, stop by tomorrow at dawn and Millie will put you straight to work.” Tom turned to Yuuri now. “Feel free hand in that art whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you so much for your kindness.” Viktor said.

“Really, we appreciate it.” Yuuri added on, and Tom waved his hand dismissively.”

“I don’t believe in empty kindness—I haven’t done anything you all ain’t gonna repay me for.”

Sending one last thank you to Tom and Millie, Viktor and everyone began on their way to the tenant’s district, making sure to reference the parchment.

“It’s this way isn’t it?” Viktor asked, looking up the avenue.

“No, that’s the way we came from. The way Tom described it, it seemed downhill.” Mari reached over and took the parchment from Viktor. “See, you’re holding it upside down.”

The tenant’s district was close to the piers, Viktor discovered as they made their way closer to the ocean. As the sun rose higher in the sky, its reflection on the water was turning from purples and oranges to yellows and blues. It was quite often that Viktor found himself distracted by the sight of it, nearly pumping into people or carts or stands.

“Where should we get paint?” Yuuri said as they neared their destination.

“Cheap stuff will do, right?” Mari asked “It’s all the same, isn’t.”

“Uh, no. Not quite. But I can make it work if I’m careful.”

“Yuuri I remember when you used to paint on the wall with food. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

Still, even as Mari said that Viktor could see none of the tension in Yuuri’s expression lifted

“This seems to be it.” Yuuri spoke up, changing the topic as they arrived in the tenant’s district. Viktor had never seen these in the capital, such quaint and square looking buildings that seemed to be stacked row after row, like building blocks for a child. Still, Mari and Yuuri seemed undeterred as they entered one of the buildings with a sign out front that read “vacancies.” Inside was a simple, if not dilapidated room—some of the furniture seemed older than Viktor, and the wooden floor boards were raised and chipped in places. A woman sat a desk, reading over documents before looking up and raising her brow.

“How can I help you folks?”

“We’d like to stay in one of these tenant homes. Is it possible to move in today, by any chance? We’ve got nowhere else to stay.” Yuuri asked.

“Today? You’d need to make a deposit of at least two month’s rent.”

“Will this cover it?” Mari reached into her pockets and retrieved the two gold coins Tom had given her. The woman behind the desk raised both of her eyebrows now and stood, gesturing to their group.

“Follow me.”

Up a set of rickety stairs, the woman led them to a door. She opened it, stepping inside and beckoning them forth. It was a quaint living space with a fireplace attached for cooking and two doors; one likely for the latrine, and one for the living space.

“You don’t have to pay until the month after,” The woman said as she began to leave the room. “But the price is the same. One gold coin.”

“Uh—wait!” Yuuri called back, and she turned with a question on her face. “It’s this easy?”

“Yes. You don’t look like you have any items, so enjoy your stay.”

With that said, she closed the door behind her, leaving the three of them in silence. All at once, a sigh of relief passed through the room.

“I know they say not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but it seems too good to be true.” Yuuri said as he ran over to Viktor, falling into an embrace.

“Don’t test our luck, then.” Mari said as she walked over to the fireplace and tried to spark a light with the nearby flint. “We’ve been given a blessing, so let’s run with it.”

“Yes…” Viktor said, placing his chin atop Yuuri’s head as he sighed once more. “Let’s.”

\- - -

He had done so once before, so it was no difficult feat to cross the border into the Gaian empire once more. He had to take care not to act suspicious as a fugitive however; he held himself with the manor and gait of nobility. When he arrived at the empresses’ castle, announcing himself as exiled Lord Yakov Feltsman, he was hesitantly let in.

“Never thought I’d see you back in Gaia,” A knight said, leading Yakov to his hearing with the empress. “Not after the stunt you pulled.”

“I’ve done the empress’s deed, and I rightfully deserve to reclaim my rank as nobility.”

The knight scoffed. “That was a fool’s errand.”

“Yet it got done.”

Silence followed as they neared the throne room, the gilded doors ever familiar to him. They opened, and once he caught sight of Empress Mila Babicheva, he bowed low in respect.

“Approach.” She said, and Yakov rose to his feet and came up to her throne.

“Of course I heard wind of the fate of Atleaus. I am unsurprised to see you here today. Where is Lilia?”

“Dead.”

“I see. No matter,” She said, hand on her chin. “So you wish to claim responsibility for assassinating the king and prince?”

“Yes.” Yakov answered.

“Tell me how.”

Yakov had prepared his lie for this moment; in truth it was Lilia who had been pulling the strings, orchestrating the king’s assassination. The prince was another story.

“I caught the king and prince both off guard during the private execution of a highly wanted individual.”

“And you did this alone?” She asked.

“No, milady. We had a spy within the king’s guard, and Lilia died while killing the king. I killed the prince, and escaped soon after.” Half-truth, half-lie. It was the best way to fabricate a story.

“I see. Your deeds will not go unrewarded. As promised, your mansion, assets, money and power are hereby restored to full power by my royal decree. However, I have one more request of you.”

“Oh?” Yakov asked, at full attention now.

“Before you are to claim your spoils, return to Atleaus for me as a spy. Keep watch on the current situation so that we may choose the perfect opportunity to strike. Soon, the petty nobility will be at each other’s throats. As soon as they have finished wiping each other out, we must strike.”

“Your forethought is profound, your excellency.” Yakov said, bowing his head deep to hide a sinister smile. In truth, he had planned to suggest returning as a spy. It was a stroke of good luck that she suggested it; now he could remain unsuspicious as he returned to Atleaus, not as a spy, but as an assassin.

He needed to return and kill the prince once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey it's been two years but I'm back. I've spent my time mostly working on a professional book, getting settled down in an apartment, and applying for college but now I've got more time to write (hopefully).
> 
> Enjoy this moments rest, for all good things must come to an end.


	15. The Executioner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later and I return bearing gifts. I haven't forgotten about this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that graphic depiction of violence? Yeah...
> 
> Needless to say, the intermission is over.

Some days passed, surmounting into weeks as Yakov found himself back in the familiar city of Atleaus.

Atleaus had been a temporary station as he crossed the Gaian-Atleaun border, but even spending a mere few hours within the walls told him the state of affairs: they were completely unraveled. Unfamiliar flags and livery was sported about the walls, and from what he could discern it was from that of nearby high lord, who’d managed to place the capital under lock and key before any others could. It was a mission in and of itself to escape the city, perhaps harder than it was to cross the nation border, but he managed to escape to the nearby forest. Though he was unsure of Lilia’s exact fate, he knew she was dead—the link they’d formed to mutually enhance their magic had been severed suddenly after she insisted on pursuing the prince and the mutinous servants.

He’d heard no gossip of a witch’s corpse found among the aftermath, so once he’d finished sweeping Atleaus, he moved to the forest beyond. But he took his time looking through the city for bodies of knights and citizens who’d tried to form a revolt. Their corpses had yet to be moved. The smell of decay filled the poorer districts as bodies were hauled out to the gates, possibly to move later on, but Yakov had a feeling that was low on the priority list. It was a shame how predictable people could be—violence and bloodshed was meager if the endgame was wealth and royalty.

It took about thirty minutes of scouting before he found her… the rancid smell of a decomposing human was one Yakov was familiar with.

Lilia’s body had entered a bad state of decay. The smell was bearable, but nothing of her physical form could be salvaged. Still, he contemplated on whether or not her soul lingered, and what kind of body he could fashion in such little time…

“Good riddance.” He worked better alone, anyway; closer inspection told him that her soul had long left this realm, leaving only residual magic. He placed his hand above her corpse and closed his eyes, listening to the hum and flow of the magic as he absorbed what little of her powers remained. Still, he could feel slightly more… empowered, invigorated once he finished. But he noticed something else as well, something had him looking to the east in curiosity. Something pulled him there, as if a large reservoir of Lilia’s magic was there. Then he realized what it is, and it was all he could do not to laugh triumphantly.

“Even in death, you still serve some purpose…” Yakov said, but whether or not he was referring to Lilia or the runaway boy was questionable even to him. Likely he had a long trek ahead of him—he’d need supplies, to procure a horse, but at least he had a direction now. He could never show his face before the Empress without killing the prince, not after what he did to disgrace her name.

When Empress Mila’s lover died of a fatal illness, Yakov and Lilia only saw opportunity—a chance to win her good graces and be renowned as heroes and unforgettable mages. His soul still fresh to his body, the two of them brought him back to life and presented him to the Empress… but she flew into a rage, and condemned them both for making a mockery of her beloved. Yakov and Lilia were exiled and sent on a fool’s errand to regain her trust once more, and she ordered their creation to be killed, as Empress Mila couldn’t bear to gaze upon someone who she assumed was dead. It was a tragedy, even to Yakov’s cold heart, for it was truly her lost love. He had to suffer death twice, by his once beloved lady at that.

Needless to say, if Yakov failed and the prince was discovered to be alive, it would be his head on the chopping block next. He needed to find that boy, Yuuri, for surely the prince would never be far. He would kill Viktor and the walking corpse, then claim that magic for himself. He had to—this was his last chance at redemption.

\- - -

“What are you two scheming?” Yuuri asked as he walked in. There, Mari and Viktor stood before a table, apparently working on something until he came in. Upon catching sight of him, the two turned around to hide whatever it was on that table.

“Perhaps!” Viktor said, and Mari turned to glare at him, nudging him with her elbow.

“Should I be… suspicious?” Yuuri asked, but he couldn’t help the wry smile that formed as he tried to look behind them, only for them to pose awkwardly to block his view.

“No, of course not.” Mari said, making shooing motions. “In fact,”

She quickly dashed forward, taking Yuuri by the shoulders and forcing him to do an about face before he could see anything. She began pushing him back towards the exit.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and work on painting! That canvas isn’t going to fill itself.”

“You’re right but—!” He was greeted by a door as it slammed shut in his face. He shook his head dismissively, deciding not to worry himself with those two and their shenanigans. Instead, with the small package in hand, he made his way upstairs to the roof of the tenant’s building.

He’d discovered it a few days after they moved in, completely barren and ignored. It wouldn’t have struck him as anything interesting, had he not noticed the delightful view. He walked to the edge, where a small wall of bricks kept him from the street below, and looked out. From this angle, he had a perfect view over the other tenant’s houses; he could see the docks with boats and people moving boxes around or merchants selling fish. Then in the far distance, the endless blue sea, shaded by the sky depending on the time of the day. Some days he could see Mari walking home from work, or he could people watch the average citizens of Blueport. It was relaxing, and now that he had what he needed to sketch, he wanted to tap in on the inspiration.

Mari had used her first payment to buy Yuuri an easel, despite his vehement protesting. He felt too guilty about the idea of Viktor and Mari financing something as irrelevant as his art. They couldn’t afford to live flamboyantly, especially on an artist’s paycheck. He didn’t think either of them understood that.

That’s why he decided to buy canvas on his own, with a trick he’d learned watching the people of Blueport. When Mari and Viktor were away, Yuuri would take a simple sketchbook and graphite to the streets and offer realistic sketches to people for a mere 5 copper pieces. It surprised him how lucrative it became, but in the end he was only able to afford very cheap canvas. Still, he was grateful.

Yuuri looked out to Blueport’s sea, taking in the distant waters that were dyed orange with the dusk of the setting sun. He pressed his graphite to the canvas, and let the creativity flow out in him.

Or at least, that’s what he wanted to do.

Truthfully, he found his mind had become blank the moment he looked upon the canvas. A simple landscape of this view… it was stunning, yes, but he could find no desire to draw it. Every time he chose a section of the horizon or the dock to draw, he found himself dissatisfied. Finally, he could put his finger on it—he wanted to use this view as a backdrop, with someone standing in front. That had always been his specialty.

Just then, Yuuri heard the door to the roof open and he looked back to see Viktor coming through, followed by Mari. The two of them wore bright happy smiles as they approached Yuuri, each hiding something behind their backs.

“I knew you two were up to something.” He said with a smile, but was thrown off when at once, the two of them thrust two packages into his face.

“Well, me and Viktor noticed how anxious you were feeling about this painting so—”

“So! Mari and I both decided to save up and chip in for some paint and brushes.”

Yuuri gasped as he looked down at the hand carved brushes, still in their casing, and the high quality acrylic and oil canister in their hands.

“Oh my god…” He reached out; they were simple paints—affordable, yet still impressive. “I can’t just accept this—”

“Yes, you can.” Viktor said. “We’ve already bought it, so…”

Yuuri grimaced, not wanting to put these beautiful tools to waste, but knowing he’d feel guilty with the knowledge that a good lump sum was wasted on him.

“You’re sure it’s fine?” He asked, and Mari sighed, thrusting the items forth once more.

“If you don’t take this right now!” She threatened jokingly, and Yuuri smiled, feeling his face heat up with embarrassment.

“I’ll have to repay you somehow…” He insisted

“Repay us with a magnificent painting.” Mari said, spreading her hands out wide dramatically as her eyes fell onto an empty canvas. Viktor circled behind the canvas smiling at Yuuri as he leaned in to get a look.

“What were you planning on painting?” the former asked.

“Truth be told, I…” ‘I’m not really inspired right now’ is what Yuuri had been intending to say. But he looked up to see Viktor, face framed with the waning sun as if he were an angel, hair covering his face like a veil, and the water a gentle backdrop that left him breathless for a moment. But only for a moment.

“Whoa—Yuuri—!” Viktor gasped in surprise as Yuuri shot to his feet and began pulling Viktor closer to the sunset. Despite his complaints, Viktor was pliant when Yuuri began posing him, nudging his arms here and there until finally, he backed up with a sigh.

“Perfect…” Yuuri whispered, and could just barely see red brushing Viktor’s cheeks as he said the word.

“What was all that about?” Mari asked as she came around to stand where Yuuri was. Suddenly she gasped, seeing what he saw.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Yuuri asked her.

“Like an angel…” Mari said in agreeance.

“What? What is it, what do you see?” Viktor looked behind himself in curiosity, but Mari chided him.

“Stand still for a moment. I just need to sketch you quickly—before we lose the light.” Yuuri said and went back over to his canvas. Graphite given a renewed purpose, he made purposeful marks across the canvas—he was confident, he had to capture this essence. But as he began to sketch Viktor’s face, his heart lost in the moment, he stopped in realization. There was no way he could get away with drawing Viktor’s face so brazenly—true, no other portrait had been done of him before, but it was foolish to think he might not be recognized.

“What’s wrong?” Mari had been standing behind him, watching Yuuri sketch the entire time. He brushed off his embarrassment, shaking his head as he went back over to Viktor, this time careful.

“Do you mind… if I?” Yuuri trailed off as his hands reached up tentatively, and Viktor scoffed.

“What happened to that boldness from earlier? Please, touch me all you’d like.” He said with a wink. Yuuri felt his chest tighten as he began to melt, but he shook his head, pinching Viktor’s side in retaliation. The latter winced, but he soon fell quiet as Yuuri sidled up next to him, running careful fingers across his bangs. Tentatively, he reached down to grab Viktor’s hands and replace them in his hair. His touch lingered, ghosting over his forearm where, beneath his shirt, his mark lay hidden. Something in his chest twisted, out of love and nostalgia, as he was brought back to the room where they first met—simple strangers, not soulmates. Had he not been royalty, had Yuuri not been painting Viktor’s mark, they would have never fallen in love.

“Close your eyes… please.” Yuuri asked of him, and Viktor abided. Gently, Yuuri placed a kiss upon Viktor’s cheek before backing up and returning to his easel. He’d been afraid that altering the pose would take away his muse, but he’d been wrong in assuming Viktor could be anything but enchanting. He almost forgot about the graphite in his hands, and jumped to work, altering his sketch. Finally, once satisfied, he took a step back.

“You can relax now, Viktor.” Yuuri said, and as if on cue the former let out a long drawn out sigh, coming up to Yuuri to catch a glimpse of his sketch.

“What do you think?” Yuuri asked, with no small degree of nervousness to his question.

“This is beautiful… I can’t wait to see this painted.” Mari said under her breath.

“I just had the idea… you know, since I never got the opportunity before… I wanted to paint you.” Yuuri stumbled over his words, finding himself suddenly bashful. He looked up to Viktor, who had yet to speak, only to find him smiling down fondly.

“When my father burned my half-finished portrait,” Viktor spoke, finally. “I thought I’d lost my only connection to you. My only memory.”

Viktor looked to the easel, of the sketch of a young man leaned against a brick wall nonchalantly, letting his hair brush against his cheeks with the sunlit ocean as a backdrop. Yuuri had to do a double-take; blink and you’ll miss it. But he could have sworn he saw Viktor blinking back tears. No, he definitely did, because as Viktor turned back to him his eyes were filled with tears.

“But now? Now I feel so blessed. I don’t really deserve this, do I?”

_I don’t deserve this._

Words that had been a constant at the back of Yuuri’s mind—was Viktor thinking the same thing? That opened the floodgate.

“Stop that!” Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s arm, his hand trembling as he tried and failed to blink away tears. “You stop that right now… If you start crying, then so will I.”

He hung his head low, unable to keep his tears from flowing, and felt Viktor step forward to embrace him.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… you know? It doesn’t feel real sometimes.” Viktor said, his voice warbling.

“You two make me sick.” Mari was sniffling, and she came up to enclose the two of them in a hug. “Sick to my stomach.”

And for a while, they simply hugged, standing on the rooftop as the sun went down.

\- - -

_“Yuuri… I’ve never seen something so amazing.”_

_“But what if she doesn’t like it?”_

_“She will loveit. I’ve never seen a painting to so… beautiful. So real.”_

_“Stop just saying that.”_

_“I mean it.”_

_“Yuuri Katsuki…?”_

Yuuri jumped out of his thoughts as his name was called, nodding as he stepped up to the shopkeeper. He’d been replaying this scene in his head over and over—but his anxiety kept him from imagining a happy outcome. So far, the worst imagined scenario was the artisan, Ms. Archer, smashing his own painting over his head and making him walk the streets like a jester. Of course, that was worst case scenario.

“That’s me.” He said, reaching out to shake the keep’s hand.

“Tom told us to expect you. Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Archer will see you now. Please, go on back.”

“Of course.” He moved carefully, careful not to bump the cloth-covered painting in his hands, or the shelves lined with tools and paints worth more than him. He opened the door into a quaint office, where a small frail woman sat, scribbling hastily into a journal.

“Ooh, sit down, sit down. I just need to finish this thought before it leaves.” Ms. Archer said, waving him in. Gingerly, Yuuri sat down, but as if the cushion was made of pins and needles.

“Yuuri… Katsuki, yes?”

“That’s correct.”

“I haven’t heard your name before, but Tom put in a recommendation for you. Do you know what I do?”

“Yes!” Yuuri nearly choked on his own tongue as he tried to find the right words. “Tom said that you, ah, mix and create paints. You also deal in artisan tools ranging from woodcarving to traditional paints.”

“Well, well. Someone hit the books I see.” Ms. Archer said with laugh. “True, I only try to trade in high quality materials… but no well-known artists frequent my shops. The dabbler, the occasional upstart, students and the like. I have no artwork to showcase my paints. You’re young—you seem inexperienced. Do you have the skill I need? Show me that painting of yours. If it’s good, I’m willing to showcase it in my store. Of course, since you aren’t well-known, we’ll be writing you up as anonymous. Build your rapport in the art community, and we might begin paying you for your art, not just your work.”

Yuuri swallowed, nervousness setting him at full force now. He wouldn’t be up to snuff for her—he knew it, she would send him out of the shop as soon as she saw his handiwork. He might as well get up and leave right now. But slowly, as if he had a death wish, he found himself standing and lifting the painting, along with the cloth protecting it from the outside world.

“ _Magnum opus_.” Ms. Archer stood in her seat, grabbing a pair of spectacles from her desk and putting them on her face. She reached out carefully, though not touching the painting, and began to look over it. Had… Yuuri heard her correctly? No, she must have misspoke, or he misheard. There was no way she could have said—

“A masterpiece. Young man, who is your teacher?”

“Teacher? I… I’m self-taught.” Yuuri admitted, and Ms. Archer tutted.

“I can’t lose this opportunity. Let me showcase this painting in my window, and I’ll commission you as an artist _right now_. Young man, did you come here shaking like a leaf so I’d purposely misjudge you?”

At that moment, one might have heard a noise akin to a stack of books hitting the floor. It was Yuuri’s jaw, agape in surprise.

“Are you being serious right now?” Yuuri asked her.

“Of course, but I’ve yet to name my price. Sit down, we have much to discuss.”

Yuuri practically fell in his seat, the words “commissioned artist” ringing around in his head. But he was just some poor starving artist who grew up in the slums of Atleaus, not someone capable of a masterpiece.

_Yet was recommended to the king._

He stamped down on the thought, though it was bold and bolstered his pride. He was recommended to the king, once upon a time. That building reputation had been cut short suddenly, but…

Hopefully this time would turn out much better.

\- - -

As the days turned to weeks, a certain shop was catching the eye of many passersby. Many would pause in their gait to eye a beautiful painting of a handsome young man with a striking sunset. Others would stop outright admire the painting, while a few were actually inspired to enter the shop and browse its wares.

But Yakov did not have time to waste ogling art on the street. With a storm coming he needed to find shelter and plan his next move—the boy was close. Dangerously close, and he needed to come up with a plan of action. So he just glanced to the side, barely acknowledging the painting… then he stopped.

A man stood with his eyes closed, his hair obscuring most of his face save for the hint of eyelashes peeking through strands. Like a halo of light, setting sun shone from behind him and over the water, with tiny boats dotting the far horizon. Due to the lighting, Yakov could not tell whether or not his hair war blonde or lighter. The mark on his arm was obscured, and his clothing seemed to flow gently in the wind. It was a remarkable painting… But there was something unique about, and something familiar that was drawing him to it.

“Isn’t it lovely?” A woman stopped by him sighing dreamily as she looked on. “What I’d give to meet a man as handsome as him.”

“You never know,” Yakov said, tipping his hat respectively. “Your youth has just begun.”

“Maybe someday…” She said, waving to Yakov as she left. Yakov began to sigh as well, looking away from the picture as he tried to get back on track—tracing Lilia’s magic. Yakov’s search had brought him here to this city, and a cursory search showed him that inklings of her magic were spread about. The prince had to be here. He needed to do another deep search.

He walked to a nearby bench and sat down, closing his eyes and leaning back innocuously. He calmed his breathing and began to block out all other noises as he focused in on Lilia’s magic.

Traces of other witches and warlocks littered the area—as to be expected of such a large town—but Yakov had been focusing on Lilia’s, who was familiar to him in an unexplainable way. Like a scent. Yes, her magic had been dusted here and there, but as he followed a particular trail—a fresh one—he began to realize it was growing stronger. Eyes still closed, his head followed the direction, and where it was strongest, a large pool of aether, he opened his eyes.

He was looking directly at the painting.

Instantaneously, he hopped to his feet and rushed into the art shop.

\- - -

“It’s going to be a storm tonight.” Mari said a few days later as they all sat down to eat breakfast.

“What? The sky was clear all day yesterday.” Viktor said, and Yuuri agreed.

“This sunrise; the sky was blood red. The sailors say that red skies at night are a sailor’s delight. But red skies at morning, we’re supposed to take warning.”

"Now, why does that sound like some silly superstition?" Viktor asked between bites of his food.

"It makes sense." Mari protested, just a tad grumpy. "Plenty of people in this town seem to listen to the soldiers about these storms. Even if you don't believe me, at least be careful tonight."

"Don't worry," Yuuri chimed in. "We'll be careful. That goes for you, too, Mari."

"Of course! It's not like I'm out and about upon the seas just yet." She lamented.

"Ahh, and when will my brave sister be a swashbuckling pirate?" Yuuri asked sardonically

"Mari? They're going to make you a pirate?" Viktor asked, his mouth hanging open in surprise, showing his food. Yuuri laughed softly, reaching over to close his lover's mouth as he explained.

"No, no, it was only a joke." He said.

"Still, deckhand is a very real responsibility for me." She stood up and stretched proudly, flexing a bit. "I'm getting my muscle back. And besides, everyone down at the docks likes me. I'm naturally charming."

"Right, right." Yuuri said half-heartedly as he gathered up the now empty plates. He loved this playful banter—this relaxing atmosphere that was absolutely disarming. A part of himself warned him of the dangers of becoming too relaxed, but he pushed that aside. He deserved this. He deserved to be happy like this; they all did. He wouldn't anyone take this away.

As he wished Mari and Viktor well on their way to work he sighed and went about his afternoon routine. Mostly, he stayed within the complex, perhaps going up to the roof to sketch and people watch. He'd wished he had been awake to see the red skies Mari talked about; he would have surely drawn some inspiration from there. A few bust sketches and soon it was late afternoon, and his feet itched to walk, perhaps down to Ms. Archer's shop.

And so he did, bringing naught with him as he anxiously began to walk. Although the day was early, clouds began to clot out the sun, making it seem darker than usual. Perhaps it truly would rain. The streets were rowdy for this time of day, he realized; people were abuzz with gossip of some sort, and newspaper criers were especially active. At one street corner, a small crowd had gathered and, over a newspaper, they began to talk--some, argue.

"Yes, but we're with a strong lord," Yuuri heard a young woman say. "We could defend ourselves well."

"Ha!" An old man laughed ruefully. "A lord is only as strong as his lands. Lord Fistidious' men were able to take our very capitol. What he would do to a trifling countryside... Blueport is not suitable to be a capitol city."

"Then what do you say we do?" A young man stepped forward now. "Give up? Let other lords walk all over us."

"Yes!" The old man replied. "This very nation was built on alliances. We can't accomplish anything single-handedly."

"Excuse me," Yuuri pardoned himself as he made his way past the crowd, towards the newspaper seller, a bronze piece in hand. He received a newspaper and began to look through the columns, startled as he read the first title.

The king's death was now officially announced, and no sooner from that did Atleaus fall into the hands of a lord hoping to start his own nation. Every other high ranking house with land had the same idea, and now, Blueport and its surroundings were declaring themselves a sovereign state. The country was tearing apart at the seams.

"The common man doesn't need to worry about this." A young woman remarked offhandedly to Yuuri. "We probably won't see battles or massacres. Young mercenaries turned soldiers will. Hell, I'd even wager to say most of the fighting will be done in cushy rooms over tea!"

"And if not?" Yuuri asked.

"If not?" She repeated.

"What if they can't come to an agreement?"

"War!" The old man with the stern opinion chimed in. "We break apart and hold stubborn, these lands will be going to war."

"Something like that? We can't simply go to war at a time like this. Not with Gaia staring down our necks." The young woman asked.

"But what choice do we have." Yuuri pointed out. The woman paused, thinking pensively, and Yuuri followed suit.

What choice indeed? Was this Lilia's plan all along, Yuuri wondered? To tear the country apart from the inside? He thought back to the conversation he'd overheard so many moons ago, of Lilia and Yakov's plan to overthrow the nation. It was clever, now that he realized--absolutely ingenious. And he'd been nothing but a pawn in the end.

Newspaper curled under his arm, he continued to Ms. Archer's shop. Noticeably, his painting was missing from the window.

The bell rang as he opened the door, and the keep at the desk greeted him formally before realizing who it was.

"Ah, you're Yuuri right?" The young woman asked him. "My name is Taylor. Ms. Archer speaks so highly of you."

"It's nice to meet you," Yuuri said with a smile.

"I'm sure Ms. Archer would like to see you, if you have the time. It was supposed to be a surprise, but I'm sure you already saw; your painting sold!"

Yuuri's chest soared with pride as what he already suspected was now confirmed. He walked back behind the counter until he came to Ms. Archer's office doors, knocking carefully.

"Come on!" She called out, sounding busy and exasperated.

"I can come back later if you're busy right now..." Yuuri offered, standing awkwardly in the doorway. But to his surprise, Archer's mood took a complete turnaround.

"Yuuri! Come in, come in, please sit down." She stood for her chair, grabbing the guest seat and motioning for him to come over. "Have you heard the good news?" She asked.

"Yes, Taylor just told me."

Archer clapped her hands. "What big mouths we have working here, but I cannot blame her. I was going to send you a letter, but I’m glad you’re already here. Our buyer was positively fanatic. It's simply the effect your art has! I told him it was but a preview piece, and it wouldn't be sold until next month. _How-ev-er_ ," She emphasized the word, smiling big. "He offered to pay triple our original sale price. Triple. Can you believe me?"

"T... _Triple_?" Yuuri's eyes went wide, and his own mouth went wide.

"That was my reaction to the 'T'." Archer said. She paused, hopping from her chair to move several books from her bookshelf. Behind them was a safe. Carefully, Ms. Archer turned the knob to the correct positions and opened the safe. She fished out an outrageous amount of gold coins and put them into a pouch for him.

“This… this is far too much,” Yuuri began to protest, but Archer shushed him quietly.

“This is more than enough, young man. I won’t have my name tarnished by underpaying my artists! I’ll send you a letter soon regarding your next commission. I also want to show you off at a exhibition an acquaintance of mine is hosting. We need to get your name out there.

“Ms. Archer, I’m not sure I can thank you enough!” Yuuri bowed deeply in an attempt to hide the smile on his face—he’s been trying and failing to suppress it.

“Just Archer is fine, and please, I need to be thanking you. Forgive me for being blunt but you are a treasure trove.” She swatted his shoulders, urging him to stand up properly so she could talk to him.

“Ms. Archer!” Taylor’s voice cut through the atmosphere as she rushed into the office.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s begun to rain outside. Hard. It’s an absolute downpour!”

As if to emphasize Taylor’s point, a far off, but deep roar of thunder sounded. Curious, Archer made her way to the window in the corner of her office—it was always closed tight with shutters; the room was mostly lit by candlelight. Sure enough, when she undid the shutters, the sound of crashing rain became more prominent.

“Ah, I knew it would happen but not this soon!” Archer cursed beneath her breath, grabbing a set of keys from her desk and beckoning Yuuri and Taylor to follow her.

“Taylor, my dear, take my keys and be sure to lock up. I doubt we’ll be getting customers in this weather.” A peek outside the window saw few people on the streets, but those that were could be seen rushing for shelter.

“No coat young man?” Archer clicked her tongue, but was already moving. “Here, take this shawl and put it around yourself.”

Though she called it a shawl, she was being humble. With a hood and long, cape with a felt-sewn interior, it was more akin to a cloak. Due to the flexibility of the fabric, however, it looked like it was made to keep out the rain.

“Don’t you need this?” Yuuri asked.

“I’ll be fine. Simply return it to me when you’re able! For now, get home.”

“Thank you. Take care, Ms. Archer!” Yuuri bowed his head, waving off as he left the shop to brace the elements. The rain hadn’t let up at all, still coming down. It could barely be considered evening, and yet the skies were dark and gloomy, being illuminated only by the occasional strike of lighting.

The thunder was getting louder, and closer.

-

_“How much for the painting in the window?” Yakov asked the second he walked in, fishing out his pocket book. He had spent so much time following that inkling of Lilia’s magic—but now a reservoir sat before him, open and flowing. With this he should be able to pinpoint the prince’s exact location. But he needed it with him._

_“Ah, I’m sorry but that piece won’t be going on sale for another few—”_

_“Never mind that.” Yakov waved his hand. “Everything has a price. Tell me your listing price, and I’ll take it off your hands.”_

_“Really, sir, I can’t sell this to you…”_

_“What’s all the trouble, Taylor?” A short but stern looking woman came from behind the counter, brushing off her hands and putting on an amicable face for Yakov. She must have been the proprietor, Ms. Archer._

_“I must have the painting in the window.”_

_“My most sincerest apologies, but—”_

_“Name your price. I’ll double—no, triple it right now. I have the coin on my person_ right now _.”_

_At this Archer paused, her mouth hanging open in succinct shock. She shared a look with Taylor, whose eyes were wide in equal surprise._

_“Perhaps…” Archer cleared her throat, regaining her composure. “We should talk more in my office.”_

-

Viktor had been near the back door, helping Millie sort dry foods and nonperishables, when he heard the first crack of thunder. He stood up in shock, nearly hitting his head, as he walked to the backdoor and peered through. The sound of the rain had been so muffled that once the door opened, it was like an orchestra.

“Crap!” Merely peeking his head out had gotten his upper body soaked. He closed the door tight, setting down the rest of the supplies as he went to seek Millie out.

“Millie…” Viktor started, but she was already at the windows, a worried face reflecting through the glass.

“Damn that man!” She started, shaking her head. “I told him it would rain—my hip was acting up—but he insisted he could go and come back.”

“Please, let me help you out.” Viktor said, but Millie began to wave him away.

“You should go home, get you and your own squared away. I’ll be fine.”

“No, I can’t leave with a clear conscious not knowing everything is okay here.”

“Stubborn boy!” She shook her head at him, but was quick as always to dole out work. “There are some boards out back next to the door. If they haven’t blown away, stack them on the front windows outside. The windows got blown out last year, and I’d hate for it to happen again.”

“Right, I’ve got it!” Viktor nodded, setting off as he began to help Millie, his pace quick while the storm was still starting.

The thunder was getting louder, and closer.

-

“You ought to run home,” A sailor called out to Mari as she found herself caught between the hustle and bustle. The storm was expected, yes, but its veracity was highly underestimated.

“No, I’m going to help!” She said over the rain. Even with a coat and hat on, she was soaked to the bone. No use in going back now.

“Even should ya’ stay past your hour, you won’t be getting nary an extra coin.”

“So what! You guys obviously need help.” She insisted, and before the older sailor could argue her further, a younger crew member called out to her.

“If you want to be useful,” He tossed her one end of the rope. “We need you to go on deck and secure this end. These ropes here won’t last against this wind.

“Got it!”

It was dangerous to board the boat while the waves were moving and crashing, but the bridge was still laid out, so she crossed carefully, every so often catching her balance on the wood. The waters looked dark and unforgiving, but soon enough she found herself on deck. Other crew members were on board, securing the deck, making sure the sails would not come loose, and moving below as well. She approached the railing of the boat and found a securement and began to tie the winding knot she’d seen done so many times before. She raped the rope around the securement in an ‘8’ style, overlapping it before looping and winding it again. Once finished, she pulled it tight and found that it was stiff and secure.

“Take one more!” The same young man called up to her again, rope in hand, and she realized he was throwing it. She had a split second to prepare and managed to fumble the rope and not drop it in the process. She decided there was no time to waste and began tying the knot with a sense of urgency.

The thunder was getting louder, and closer.

\- - -

Yuuri walked into the apartment lobby—the usual receptionist was nowhere to be seen, and the lights were off, adding to the gloomy atmosphere. Though the cloak protected his head and body from the rain, his legs and shoes were absolutely soaked.

He was thankful, as he got to the stairwell, that candles had been lit. He took one from the wall and used it to light his way. Lighting struck, the beam visible from the stairwell window and lighting the stairs. This time, the thunder was immediate—loud and startling. He could only pray that the rains would quickly do away with any fires.

Finally, he made it to their flat. He grabbed his keys, unlocking the door and sighing as he made it in.

Thankfully, the windows were still intact. He walked up to them, opening the screen for a moment and bracing the downpour as he pulled the outer screen shut, protecting the glass. Tossing his shoes off and throwing the coat on the table, he quickly grabbed a kettle and a pan. He filled the kettle with water for tea and tossed a few strips of bacon onto the pan, letting both of them cook over the fire. He changed from his damp clothing, happy to be home. His thoughts began to stray, and anxiety peaked as he began to wonder how Viktor and Mari were faring in this weather. He had half a mind to get back up and brave the storm again when he relaxed upon hearing the doorknob turning. He always kept it unlock when he was home, so they’d have no trouble getting in.

“Welcome…” His voice got caught in his throat. The door was open, but neither Viktor nor Mari stood there.

His chest felt constricted and an animalistic reflex was taking over—urging him to run. Or to fight.

It was only a split second before either of them moved, but it seemed to last an eternity.

In that split second, Yuuri needed only milliseconds to analyze Yakov’s face in the dim light of the fire.

But the lightning was feeling gracious and in another millisecond illuminated him, just to ensure to Yuuri that yes, one of his worst nightmares was coming to reap him.

Thunder crashed, and they moved.

The splitting sound of metal cried as Yakov unsheathed his sword and lunged towards Yuuri; the man was obviously prepared. In Yuuri’s mind, there was no time for anxiety, fear, or questions. His body simply moved, and jumped onto the table, grabbing the chair he was sitting on and tossing it at Yakov.

The older man faltered for a moment, trying to parry the chair as it crashed through the floor. He saw through Yuuri’s attempt to skirt past him, but Yakov gave not an inch. There were only two ways out now—the window, or the door. And Yuuri had just locked the window.

Undeterred, Yuuri grabbed a broken piece of chair, using it as an impromptu weapon as he tried to force Yakov back with a brutal attack, aimed right at his chest. Yakov clicked his tongue chidingly as he cut the wood clean in half with merely his sword. He sent a shell-shocking kick to Yuuri’s chest—one that would have broken the average ribcage as he was sent sprawling against the far wall, into the brick of the fireplace. Bricks had come loose around him, that’s how hard he was thrown, and his head went dizzy for a split second. When he came clear, there was a sword, sharp and glinting, right at his nose.

“Where is the prince.” Yakov asked. Yuuri looked up at him, defiance in his eyes as he tensed every muscle in his body. He was silent, grasping desperately in his mind for a way out.

“I’ll only ask you once.”

A whistling sound reverberated through the room.

“Burn in hell.” Yuuri said.

“You’ve brought this upon yourself.” Yakov raised his sword, but in that split second between raising his arm and bringing it down, Yuuri gathered the strength to reach behind him towards the kettle, emptying the boiling contents on Yakov.

He let out a pained yell, stepping back and clutching himself as his skin turned red and blistery. Yuuri wasted no time grabbing the pan and its burning bacon, trying to throw that on Yakov as well, but he found his blow parried. In a split second decision, he discarded the pan and instead tried to tackle Yakov. Weakened and off-guard, Yuuri was able to grapple for the sword. But Yakov was stronger than he appeared—no frail old man, but his sword did not glow like that of a mage knight. Surely he was weaker than Lilia, and surely he could defeat him.

Suddenly all the air in his chest exited in a raspy cough; he’d been kicked in the gut and staggered to catch his breath. But Yakov didn’t give him a chance. He punched Yuuri across the jaw, and he nearly fell over, but caught himself on the table, trying to build the momentum to lean forward.

It was this momentum that killed him.

Slowly, the world moved slowly as Yuuri refocused his gaze on Yakov. He couldn’t figure out why everything was moving so slow, until he realized something was blurring in the air, shiny and glittering.

Ah, it was a sword.

It was aimed at his neck.

He needed to dodge it.

But as it was merely inches from his neck, he realized he wouldn’t be able to. The first pinching slice of the blade into his skin was what brought time back to him, and it was over in a second.

His head was severed from his body.


	16. The Headless Horseman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last part of this chapter may contain some inaccuracies and mistakes; it was originally part of another short story I was writing but it fit so well here.  
> Happy 1-year anniversary everyone ;w; thanks for coming so far with me <3\. New and old readers, I wouldn't be here without you.

_For a split second, he could still see himself. He could see himself fall limp to the floor, he saw Yakov grab his head roughly, and he saw the frozen, glassy stare in his own eyes._

_Then the darkness creeped from the edges, and everything went black. For a long time, it stayed black. Like he was floating through mud, no sense of his own body, no sense of up or down, and no sense of self. Not until, like a snap, he suddenly became cognizant of his own muddled consciousness._

_‘Am I… dead?’ He asked himself. He was experiencing a feeling akin to déjà vu, but he couldn’t remember why. Had he died before, somehow?_

_‘How did I die?’ He asked himself, but the void did not answer back. What was he doing before this? No, there was nothing before this. He’d always been in this empty expanse. He was about to let himself slip back into that fleeting incognizance where he wasn’t aware of even himself, but something snapped him out of it. A voice rang throughout this emptiness._

_His own voice._

_“…” There was a soft whisper, barely audible._

_‘What?’ He wanted to call out, but he had no mouth to speak with, no voice to be heard with. ‘I can’t hear you.’_

_“You… I am.”_

_“Find…”_

_‘Find what?’_

_“ **Wake up**.”_

He sat up, clutching his neck in agony, reaching to where his head should be. In darkness he tumbled, and in darkness he awoke. There was nothing there.

The void drained away in one fell swoop, and suddenly he was there. He laid on the floor, like a puppet with its strings cut. Why was he laying there? What was he doing?

More importantly, where _was_ he?

Like a cloud hovering himself, he was taken slightly aback with what he saw. This was… definitely not normal. He had no head, but he could see. Like viewing over someone’s shoulder, he could see himself, control his own body, but he was oddly disconnected. Every step felt uncertain, and it was hard to move, as if he’d never walked before. This was not normal. He knew it wasn’t normal, yet inexplicably he found himself wondering what normal was supposed to be.

A memory flashed before his eyes, of something not too long ago; a blade piercing his neck, a man looking down at him triumphantly, and his head…

God, his head. He needed to find his head.

A fire poker laid strewn across the ground, and absentmindedly Yuuri grabbed it. Memories of a scuffle, distant but fresh ran through his mind, and a surge of anger went through him. As if guided by his emotions, shadows began to encompass the poker, flickering hesitantly over the rusted metal surface like a film. A brief thought flitted through his mind as he got shakily to his feet, of finding a proper mage sword, but he dismissed the thought almost immediately, not even sure what a mage sword _was_. He wasn’t sure of much right now, save for one thing.

With unsteady but quick steps he left the room he woke up in—an apartment building, he remembered. He must have been living in it. Inklings of memories whirled around in his… within him, within whatever semblance of sentience still remained within him. Stumbling out into the street, in the storm that raged on, he followed something; an instinct, perhaps. He knew with some primal instinct that it was where his head was. He moved, like an unsure puppeteer, occasionally forgetting his own name, towards his head.

The streets were empty, almost dead, save for a distant light. Then, underneath the weakening sound of rain, he acknowledged the hoof beats of a horse. But he pressed on, ignoring the rider. Unfortunately, the rider did not ignore him.

“Do you need some help?” The rider, an older man called out. Yuuri almost stopped in his mindless march, before realizing it was not the man he was looking for. The voice was familiar… but that didn’t matter right now.

“This storm is insane; are you trying to get home? You shouldn’t be out… here… _god above_.”

Yuuri was close enough to see the whites of the man’s eyes as he screamed. His terror frightened his owned steed, and he was thrown from his horse onto the slippery street. That would be frightening sight, would it not? To see a man, stumbling through a storm, headless. But the thought didn’t cross Yuuri’s mind; what did occur to him, however, was that surely a horse would be faster than his feet

\- - -

Time went by, but unlike normal storms this one didn’t want to let up. Viktor had no problem keeping Millie company, and by extent, keeping her calm. Surely, she was just as worried for Tom as Viktor was for Yuuri. He could only hope that, in this storm, Yuuri hadn’t been caught outside. Viktor was pulled out for his worries, when banging came across the door; not thunder. Thank god, Tom was finally back.

“Tom!” Millie runs over to the door, moving the makeshift barricade out of the way. Viktor let out a sigh of relief from where he stood, by the counter. As she unlatched a wooden lock, he hung his head low, debating on whether he should go out to brave the elements as well. His thoughts were cut short.

Millie let out a scream; she’d been about to open the door when it suddenly flew open under a strong kick. The smell of rain came crashing in, along with the noise. A large, heavy silhouette stood in the doorway. Viktor didn’t need the illumination of the lightning to tell that it _was not Tom._

Was it a looter? No, the old man who knocked past Millie had to have a death wish if he wanted to loot a store during a thunderstorm. The door slammed shut, the only sound in the room aside from Millie’s broken breathing as the man scanned the room. Immediately, with hatred in his eyes, he looked to Viktor. Sword unsheathed, he charged.

In that instant, in his sudden fear for his life he ran. He took cover within the shelves of the store, hoping that, as the man’s main target, Millie would not be harmed in his assault. There were only so many people in this world that knew Viktor was alive, where he was, and wanted him dead. This had to have been the other witch Yuuri told him about, Yakov, the one who’d been working with Lilia. His stomach sunk at that thought, of how long he’d been separated from Yuuri and Mari now. He could only hope that he was Yakov’s first stop.

Viktor felt his breath catch in his throat as he hit a dead on, spinning around to find Yakov approaching him with his sword drawn. With a yell, he heaved a shelf over and threw himself to the ground, narrowly ducking beneath the well-aimed swing of a sword.

“Viktor!” Millie called out to him as he tumbled over the wooden shelf. He winced in pain as broken glass stabbed his palms, rolling off the wood to avoid another swing. The sound of more break glass fills the air, and Viktor realized Millie had begun throwing plates at Yakov. One hit his shoulder, and the old man shrugged broken pieces and porcelain dust off his cape before picking up a broken piece of shelf and hurling it towards Millie. She screamed, ducking under the counter, and Viktor hurried to try and make it back over to her.

He made it halfway before a sound made him freeze in horror. His back was to the door as he heard it slam open once more. If it were an enemy, he’d be dead; his body involuntarily froze as he watched Millie’s eyes look past him to whoever was entering the door. Her eyes widened in abject horror, and she screamed a blood-curdling sound, like she’d witnessed a murder.

Someone strong pushed Viktor by his shoulder—only a push—and he landed to the ground in a heap. Whoever it was paid him and Millie no mind; they were walking towards Yakov’s end of the shop. Millie was pulling at Viktor as he tried to sit up, feeling at his bruised ribs. He turned to see what Millie had seen, what had made her so terrified and he stopped.

When he looked up, two thoughts went through his mind, lightening fast. At first, he had no idea what he was looking at; his mind was trying to make sense of something that shouldn’t be. A dark, almost person sized shadow. Now, it billowed in the wind, a black cloak soaked with rain. A person’s white, sopping blouse and black slacks. Yes, all evidence pointed towards this being a person but…

Then another thought, in under the span of a second, flashed through his mind. No, not a thought. A memory. _An image_. One that he’d tried and failed to suppress so many times. He had so many nightmares after that event, that every time he closed his eyes he could see that haunting, visceral image.

Yuuri, with his head cut clean off, and his body limp and lifeless.

He remembered that evening, one moment Yuuri was calling out to him, pleading and begging for his love and understanding. Next, as if frozen in time, his expression stopped and then—

Tears welled in Viktor’s eyes.

“Yuuri?!”

Black, shadow-covered sword held to the side, the figure stopped, turning slightly towards Viktor. With barely reaction, it continued towards Yakov, weapon raised as it began to lash out. Metal met metal, with Yakov’s now glowing with aether as well as their blades clashed. Unable to help but unable to sort through his emotions, Viktor could only watch as the headless figure tried to back Yakov into a corner. It couldn’t be… but truly, if it was Yuuri, then he had never seen him so vicious.

 _No!_ Viktor thought as a tremor of fear passed over him. It couldn’t be Yuuri.

Viktor was torn from his thoughts as he watched Yakov break past a parry with his shoulder, sending a good blow to the headless figure’s chest. The latter stumbled, and Yakov used this advantage to make a run for the door. The figure was quick to pursue.

“Wait, don’t—” Viktor cut himself off in surprise when he heard the air near his head whistle with a terrible scream. The figure had struck out to him in warning, sword pointed his direction as he continued towards the door.

Lightening illuminated the store, and in that instant, on the arm of the sword pointed towards him, he saw it. In red, a half-heart soul mark matching his own.

Thunder sounded just as the door slammed shut. Viktor fell to his knees, a broken cry dying short in his throat. Millie rushed to his side, frantic with questions and worry. It all fell deaf to his ears.

“Viktor! Speak to me, lad! What was that thing; did you know it? You called it Yuuri, but there’s no way it could be…”

His senses came back to him, and Viktor stood.

“I need to leave.” He announced, heading towards the door, but Millie pulled him to a stop.

“In this weather? And what if that… that _thing_ is still out there?!”

“You don’t understand, I need to leave.” He pulled past her, throwing open the door. The rains were still heavy and unforgiving; Mother Nature gave no sympathy towards his plight. Truly his struggle had just begun, but these thoughts didn’t even occur to Viktor as he set off downhill towards his apartment.

“Viktor, please come back inside!” Millie called back after him, but he couldn’t spare any time as he picked up his pace to a jog, then a run. He slipped and slid in the rain as he ran, the streets still wet. The skies were still dark, but around Viktor signs of life began to return as people peered out of their homes to see what the storm had done so far. Viktor pressed on.

 _It can’t be_ , Viktor told himself. He was seeing things. He imagined it—he’d imagined everything. He would go home, and Yuuri would be waiting for him there.

A vision flickered before him, of his soul mark on the headless figure’s arm, and he suppressed the thought with a nauseous shiver.

 _It. Can’t. Be_. It was a trick of the lightning. A hallucination—anything but that possibility!

When the building was in sight, Viktor was nearly out of breath from running himself ragged. Soaking wet, he threw open the doors of the building and ran up the stairs, slipping and losing grip along the way.

“Yuuri?” He called out once he saw the open door. He wasn’t prepared when he opened the door to see their apartment in disarray. A chair had been broken, its pieces scattered about the apartment, bricks were loose from the masonry with dust covering the ground, and the floor was covered with water, though none of the windows were open. The fireplace was lit.

“Yuuri!” There was only one bedroom in the small apartment, and once he realized it was empty, Viktor set himself out, next to find Mari. Perhaps Yuuri was with her, he thought. Holding onto that hope, Viktor set back out on the streets, the sting of the rain never straying far. This one sliver, this denial-based possibility, was the only thing keeping him going. If not, he might just break down.

\- - -

Though the storm raged on, the initial hustle and bustle at the docks was calming down. Ships were secure, though they could not be left unattended while the storm continued. Mari remained on deck, looking for any issues as sailors moved around her some energetic, some impatient.

“The eye won’t pass over us,” One sailor had mentioned to her in passing. “So we can call it a day once the rain lets up.”

And she would be glad when that time came. Though it was just a storm, she was worried sick about Yuuri and Viktor. They were responsible, she told herself every time she grew anxious. Well, Yuuri was—but Viktor was in safe hands with Millie. There was nothing to worry about.

“Here you are.” A deckhand approached Mari, a hooded shawl in hand.

“A little late for that, don’t you think?” Mari asked sardonically, taking the shawl nonetheless.

“’S better than nothing. You weren’t supposed to after _anyway_ , but it’s best not to catch a cold.”

Mari grunted a response, leaning over the railing of the ship languidly as her eyes caught a shape in the distance. A person, out in these storms? They were insane, Mari thought, though she had no business speaking.

“Is that person…” the deckhand leaned forward, hand up to shield his eyes from the rain. “…running _towards_ the docks?”

Mari looked toward the person with renewed purpose; as their form grew closer she didn’t need lightning to illuminate. She could recognize that mop of silver hair anywhere.

“Oh, _god_.” She pushed herself away from the railing, sliding across the slippery deck as she made her way to the gangway. Where before she’d been cautious and fearful of the raging waters below, she sprinted across it now as if it were a sidewalk.

“I knew it… I know something bad happened.” She whispered to herself, running to meet Viktor. “What happened?” She yelled across the docks once he was finally within view. “ _Please_ tell my Yuuri’s okay.”

When Viktor greeted her with a silent response, with only an urgent but sorrowful gaze, Mari felt every piece of her heart clench.

“Say something.” She grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. Sailors, deckhands and laborers looked their way. She paid them no mind. “Say. Something.”

Even through the rain, lightening though it was, Mari could see tears forming in Viktor’s eyes.

“ _Say something!_ ”

“I…” Finally he spoke, a choked syllable. “I didn’t want to believe it. We were _finally_ happy. But Yuuri, he…”

Mari let go of Viktor, shaking her head as she stepped back.

“No. No, I don’t believe. He can’t be—”

“He isn’t!” Viktor cut her off. “He isn’t dead, but his… oh _god_ , his _head is gone_.”

\- - -

It was dark, but he didn’t have trouble seeing. Was seeing even the right term? Perhaps it was more like he perceived his nearby environment, feeling it rather than seeing with his own eyes. The storm was passing on, or perhaps he’d ridden out of it, yet still the skies were ominous. What time was it? No, it didn’t matter.

He initially had trouble keeping balance on the horse, despite its tame nature—but he got used to it within a couple of hours. Yes, he’d been riding for hours, but he didn’t feel tired—not sleepy, nor hungry, not _anything_. Was this normal? Perhaps. He didn’t really care. If anything he was feeling anxious and terrified—terrified of what that man would do with his head, of what would happen to himself if he couldn’t find it. Worse yet, what would happen if it were destroyed? He shivered, but gripped the reins tighter as he came upon a village.

All was quiet as he made his way through the main road. He didn’t consider stopping, though his horse was sure growing tired. Still, he slowed the horse to a trot, careful so as not to wake anyone.

“Whoa, you there!” A voice called out to him from the night, and Yuuri jerked to a stop. The man held his lantern up, puffy red face sleep deprived and unfocused.

“You’ve got to pay the toll! Don’t think you can sneak past…” The man trailed off, holding the lantern up closer and taking a step forward.

“My god… You… your—” The toll man fell back on his ass, pointing his finger up in surprise. “Your head!”

Yuuri reared his horse back before snapping the reins, rushing down the main road once more. He didn’t look back, only leaned forward to urge his horse on as he left the village finally, disappearing once more into the night.

Of course this would happen. Of course, a man with no head riding around on a horse would draw too much attention. He couldn’t ride around like this—much less during the day.  But what could he do?

Dawn was quickly approaching, after a few more hours in his thoughts and on the road. He could sense that the old man he was still on the move; he could not falter now. Not when he had such a large lead. He would keep going until that necromancer rested, hopefully he’d be able to close the distance then.

But with the sun rising and another, larger, village in view… Yuuri grew anxious. What would they do to him if they saw him? If they caught him? His only hope was to push forward as fast as possible.

He snapped the reins once more, urging the horse from a quick trot to an outright run, zooming into the town.

Yuuri could not pay his worries any mind as he zoomed through the town’s square. A few people lingered here and there, calling out in surprise as Yuuri rushed by. He could only hope none of them got a good look at him. It was only when he rounded the road’s corner that he nearly ran into another person. The woman stepped back in shock, anger initially marking her expression. Yuuri’s horse reared back in shock, bringing them to a halt just short of the woman.

“What’s the big idea, soldiers riding around this early in…” As he expected, the woman broke off into a scream.

“D…Devil! Demon! Help, please!” She threw down the basket in her hands, backing away in shock, before breaking into a run.

Yuuri yanked on the reins, guiding his horse back onto the road and ushering it moving again. He had to move quickly before anyone else saw him.

But already, more people were peeking outside of their homes, all looking his way for whatever the clamor was. It took only a second before screams broke out once more, doors slamming shut and people calling for help.

Frantically, Yuuri snapped the reins—they needed to leave now. Their fear would turn to violence soon—he knew it would. He’d seen it before. But where?

As he rode on, he felt the callings of another memory—but it would not come to him. It felt faraway, not even an inkling. Something terrible had happened to him, or he’d done something terrible. But no matter how hard he tried to conjure up a memory, nothing came to him. He needed to find his head.

\- - -

Finally, Yuuri could sense that his head had stopped moving. The necromancer had finally stopped. Good for Yuuri—he didn’t need to rest at the moment. He felt full of vigor, but with the sun high in the sky he was wary to move on. But he had to.

For once in almost an entire day, Yuuri stopped his horse. While Yuuri could go on endlessly, his horse needed to stop and graze. He looked out into the thick forests surrounding him at almost every angle. He had to think of what he did from here on out. The forests between villages were thick, and now road traffic was going to be higher. He was going to run into more people. But he already made up his mind, he was going to keep—

Yuuri jolted in shock as his point of view suddenly shifted—he was no longer looking at himself and his horse anymore. Panic began to set in—everything was pitch black. Was he dead again? Did something happen to his head? No… no he could hear something now.

“Will you be staying one night or two?”

“How much for a third night?” It was the necromancer! He could hear him speaking, but not see him. “I have had a long journey, young girl, and these old bones need rest.”

“That would be eleven more coins.”

“Eleven? You’ll rob me. No bother, I have the coin.”

Just as suddenly as he’d been thrust into his vision, he came back into his body. He was lying on the ground, but something was wrong. His horse was whinnying and crying out in shock, and Yuuri got a view of two strangers trying to handle it.

“Aye, but where’s his head?’ The first man asked looking back over to Yuuri with worry. Yuuri stayed still, scared for his life as he saw the two men trying to calm his horse.

“Never mind him, he’s a dead man. This horse is in good condition for what was no doubt bandits… wonder why they didn’t take her.” The second man commented, arms extended as he tried to shush the horse.

“Bandits? Then we need to leave. They’re no doubt still nearby.”

“Not until we finish our hunt. Tie the horse down and we’ll come back for it later.

“Alright, but check the lad’s pockets, see if he’s got anything good on him.”

Yuuri jumped to his feet, throwing his arms out in an attempt to scare them. Both of them fell back in shock, mouths wide open as they looked at Yuuri. He didn’t falter though, he used this opportunity to jump onto his horse. It reared back once before he snapped the reins, ushering it into a gallop.

Even as he moved farther down the dirt road, he could see them running into the forest, hear them yelling for help from their comrades. He couldn’t afford to stop out in the open. Stopping here put him at risk of running into more travelers or hunters. Hunters with weapons. His horse would have to wait.

For now, he pressed on, anxiety driving him ever near.

 


	17. The Myth of Coincidences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been two years but I'm showing up late with starbucks to my own fic. There may be typos here and there, just a disclaimer.

“Where do we even begin to search?” Mari asked, her voice desperate as the clopping of hooves carried on. Every time she remembered how big the countryside was, and how Yuuri could be anywhere, a crushing weight eclipsed her. But what more could she do? Giving up was not a valid option.

“Someone has to have seen him. He’s hard to miss now. We just have move around and hope we catch wind. Someone’s seen him. Someone’s _had_ to have seen him.” Viktor said, his eyes fixed forward with chilling consternation. Mari wanted to blame Viktor so bad, but she didn’t have the heart; she knew it would be wrong, and that it would lead nowhere. And he was doing arguably worse. Gone were the tears, he was now stoic and silent most of the time. And every time he spoke, he spoke as if nothing was wrong on the inside, as if it’s a guarantee that Yuuri is safe and sound. It hurt. It hurt so much.

As they passed by fields, mostly cultivated, Mari pulled out her coin purse to make the time go faster. Counting the coins, she recounted how abiding Ms. Archer had been to their plight when she told her Yuuri went “missing.” They couldn’t very well tell the woman Yuuri’s head was missing and he was now roaming the countryside, doing god knows what, but the older woman was sympathetic to their vagueness nonetheless. Some of Yuuri’s commission money had been given to them, and pooled with what they found in the house, it was enough to buy two horses and supplies. They had such little belongings already, and with rent paid they were more than willing to abandon their ties to this city. It was as wretched as the capital now, with only bitter memories behind them.

“I have an idea,” Viktor said finally, breaking Mari from her trance. She said nothing, simply looking up at him as their steeds marched on.

“I’m still a prince.” He continues, looking forward towards the horizon. “ _Technically_ , I’m still a prince. I need… if we’re going to find Yuuri and Yakov, we need to search everywhere. Two people can’t do this alone.”

“What are you saying?” She spoke up, Viktor looked over to her with a steely resolve she’d never seen before.

“If I return to the capital and prove I’m not dead, I can claim the throne.” He explained. “Then, I can spend our resources searching. There’s no other way we can do this.” He said with a convinced certainty. He’d obviously put deep thought into this, but Mari was finding herself unconvninced.

She pulled an unpleasant expression. “The kingdom wants me and Yuuri dead.”

“My _father_ wanted you dead. But I’ll be the new king—I don’t _care_ , whatever it takes to find him again. I’ll show up, prove I’m alive, and they’ll be forced to give me the throne. They’ll have to listen to whatever I say.”

His tone left no room for argument, though Mari still had concerns to voice. What he said made sense, but in this world where there was no right or wrong, she could no longer trust seemingly sound logic. But what was the worst that could happen, she thought bitterly.

Eventually, the sun began to set, and with it, exhaustion as well. Neither of them wanted to stop for the night, but after riding for a day straight, the inn was too appetizing to resist. When they’d first made the trip from Atleaus, it had been by foot, taking a day merely to reach the nearest town. Yurio’s farm was several hours by horse from that, and almost a day from Blueport itself. Yet still, to make the trip nonstop with only two people would be suicidal.

After the respite, it was a mere day’s ride to Atleaus. But it was not as simple as merely strolling up to the front gates, no, when they’d entered the small town of Hadencraft, they’d been stopped by soldiers in unfamiliar livery.

“None may enter further without first proving their allegiance to Lord Newham.” A knight approached them as they neared the village. Mari and Viktor shared a look.

“Our… what?”

“We don’t have time for this,” Viktor huffed. “This is important; we have important information that must be delivered to the capital at once!”

“I’m sorry, but there are no exceptions to this rule.” The knight said, holding his ground.

“Would you make an exception for the king himself?” Mari asked, her patience wearing thin and her tone testing. The knight stepped forward, indignant.

“You watch your tone, woman!”

“I’m the crown prince!” Viktor explained, frustrated. “Escort us to the castle, dammit, or find someone who can confirm my identity.”

The knight was quiet for a moment, looking to his comrades, before making a signal.

“Off your horses, and wait here.” The knight signaled, the rest of the soldiers stepping forward with swords at the ready as Viktor and Mari dismounted. Sure, he’d been wearing commoner clothes with mussed hair and a lax demeanor, but surely someone could still recognize him as the prince. If only he’d had portraits done.

It was several minutes before a knight, decorated with a cape and riding a white stallion approached from within the village. He held himself with an unspoken sense of superiority, approaching the duo as if there wasn’t a care in the world. Mari wanted to curse him, watching the man step down from his horse slowly, clearly unsympathetic to their rush.

The knight approached the two of them, staring down, face unreadable from behind the helm as he looked over Viktor and Mari. Slowly, the man reached up to undo the clasps of his helm, and the older knight looked down at them with an expression of disbelief.

“The witch from the pyre. Aide to the king’s murderer.” The man said, voice calm and nonchalant for someone who should be recognizing an enemy. He laughed, wryly, as he continued. “Surely you let me live if only to mock me on this day. Tell me, where’s the king’s assassin?”

“None of that matters now!” Viktor stepped forward, chin up. Mari could see him channeling that snobbish princely attitude that she’d grown to hate some time ago.

“Do you recognize my face?”

“…Of course.” The knight said. “I would never forget the face of the crown prince.”

“Then you should understand why it’s important that we get to the capital immediately.” Viktor said, his voice urgent. Around them, the soldiers began to clamor in disbelief.

“Is this truly the prince?”

“He’s alive! I don’t believe it…”

The knight raised his hand, silencing the troops.

“I never said this was the crown prince.”

“Excuse me?” Mari was incredulous. “You just said—”

“Quiet, witch!” The knight cut her off, voice suddenly booming. “I recognize the face of an imposter. Fell magic will not fool me.”

“I’m no imposter, I—” But Viktor was cut off.

“I was there when the king and prince were murdered in cold blood by these selfsame witches. I saw the prince fall with my own eyes.”

“That’s a lie!” Mari called out. “I would never hurt Viktor, he’s standing right in front of you!”

“Why would the prince ally himself with a witch?” The knight asked. “Which of us makes the most sense right now?”

“That’s not for you to decide.” Viktor said, keeping his bravado, despite his visible anger. “You’ll take us to the capital at once so we can speak with whoever’s in charge.”

“I speak for my lord when I say I’m doing a righteous deed.” The knight unsheathed his sword, and Viktor stepped back, his tough demeanor falling in place of disbelief. “Enforcing his will means protecting Atleaus’ way of life. We knights enforce our lord’s—”

With a grunt of exertion, Mari stepped forward, sending a kick to the knight’s abdomen and staggering him. Without another word, she grabbed Viktor by the wrist and ran for the village, forsaking their horses.

“Dammit, but—!” Viktor called out, cutting himself short with a noise of exasperation.

“There’s no time!” Their best bet was to make it deeper within the village and hide. With knights on horseback close on their heels within the town proper, it they were at the disadvantage. Everyone with a sword on their hip was an enemy, and the wide alleyways and streets made it nearly impossible to find reprieve from eyesight.

“Here.”

Mari stopped once she’d entered another alley, an unfamiliar whisper caught her off-guard. Unarmed, she was prepared to fight with her fists as a young man ran at her, a blur, only to see him run past. She looked back towards the entrance of the alley as the young man held up a navy blue cloth. She gasped as a knight rode up the entrance of their alley, stopping before the man and his sheet and… moving on, as if they were invisible, completely unseen.

“How did you…”

“He’s a witch.” Mari stated in disbelief. The man turned back and she got a good look at him—he had dark, sun-kissed skin and a black bowl-cut, features not native to Atleaus but not unfamiliar either, what with their diverse neighbors.

“Follow me.” He stated, lowering the cloth and opening the door to a building leading out of the alley. Mari had questions, suspicions, and so much confusion—but as the hooves of horses sounded their way once more, she realized they had no choice. She and Viktor followed him through the door, relief flooding her as it slammed shut behind them.

“This way, this way…” They stood at the landing to a narrow wooden staircase—at the bottom already was the young man, a lantern in hand illuminating the way.

“We have no other options.” Mari reminded Viktor as she stepped forward reluctantly.

“This is suspicious—we should be getting to the capital.”

“We won’t make it if we’re beheaded first!” She said. “I knew it couldn’t be this easy. Something’s going on. Maybe he knows something.”

“Are you going to stand up there and talk or…?”

Mari began to descend the stairs, followed shortly Viktor. They found themselves in the masonry of a basement, lit by candles. The floor was made of wood and the damp smell of water stains permeated throughout. The room was fairly small, with wooden furniture here and there, and a door on the far wall.

“Why did you help us?” Mari asked as soon as she came face-to-face with the stranger. He’d hung his lantern on a hook and flopped down on a wooden chair seated next to a table. The room held many tables and chairs, like a seating area or slapdash dining room.

“Those knights looked like the meant business… murder-related business.” The man explained, gesturing to the tables before him.

“Maybe we’re bad people?” Mari said, ignoring the chairs.

“I heard what you were talking about.” The man said, his lackadaisical demeanor never faltering. “I know why they were after you. I need information on the prince.”

“I might not even be the real prince.” Viktor huffed, his voice filled with disdain.

“That’s not entirely important!” The young man said, a smile on his face. “Whether you’re the prince or not, you have information on what happened that day, and I need to know it. I saved your lives, so you owe me.”

“We don’t have _time_ for this.” Viktor said through grit teeth.

“Ah, but _we_ do.”

A voice sounded from behind, and Mari jumped as she looked up. She hadn’t heard him enter, but there was a man on the stairwell now, walking down nonchalantly with a sword in hand. Haphazardly, he took off his helm and throw it to the side, revealing sandy blond hair and a bearded face.

“We just want answers for our cause. And until you provide them, consider yourselves captive.”

Another person spoke—a woman who seemed to have been blending in with the shadows stepped forward, long black hair flowing.

Mari could see the growing exasperation on Viktor’s face. When had she become the cool and collected one in this crisis? She knew his pain well, but it wasn’t her façade that had chipped away now, was it? She had no airs to front, just plans to make.

“Fine. We’ll answer whatever you want, but only on one condition.”

“Condition?” The woman with long hair spoke, scoffing. “I’m not sure you’re in the right place to be making… conditions…”

“Maybe earlier, before you were captives, yeah?” The bearded man asked, using his free hand to scratch his chin inquisitively. “What do you think, Phichit?”

“I think that—”

The atmosphere in the room changed—there were footsteps descending, but not from behind Mari—from behind the door on the far wall.

“ _I thought you told her to stay put?_ ” The long haired woman asked the apparent leader, Phichit.

“I _did_.” Phichit stood, still facing Mari and Viktor, as he approached the door. “Minako, now’s no good.”

“I simply need to know if—”

Everything stopped for a moment, and Mari blinked.

“ _Minako?!_ ” She called out, stepping forward without thinking. She could hear movement from behind her as the man with the sword stepped forward with a shout. On the other side of the closed door, footsteps hurried down stairs and towards the door.

Mari couldn’t clearly see the woman standing in the doorway; her eyes were blurred with tears. But she could recognize that prim stance, long brown hair, and demure robe—she could recognize Minako anywhere.

“Mari!” Minako ran forward at the same time, launching into a bone-crushing hug. Mari buried her face in her shoulder, unable to hold back her sobs as relief filled her core. The room around her and the imminent danger suddenly disappeared—for a brief moment, her woes disappeared—just relief to see mentor safe and sound.

“I knew you were alive.” Minako whispered between broken sobs. “There’s a fire in you, and I never doubted for a moment that you were okay.”

Mari nodded her head, grateful that at least one of them could be optimistic in these times.

\- - -

It was like someone snapped their fingers—that was how fast the demeanors of their “captors” changed when Minako stepped in. Viktor recognized her almost immediately—the priestess who’d pleaded to him what felt like ages ago.

Now, the group sat within the cellar’s inner room, a much more accommodating place than prior, but only in comparison. Mari and Viktor sat next to each other, their brief respite of happiness gone, as Minako Phichit’s group sat across from them. The room was quaint, worn furniture and chairs looking more like they were placed for storage rather than convenience.

“There’s no need to be so glum anymore,” Minako said, setting down her cup to smile at Mari. “I’m sure a lot of things have transpired…” She glanced up towards Viktor. “But surely the worst is already over.”

“ _If only_.” Mari said, followed by a humorless laugh. Minako’s ignorance of the past was like a twisting knife, a reminder of his failures. He closed his eyes, looking down as Mari finally began to explain in detail all that had happened since her disappearance.

She held back no detail, explaining how Yuuri and Viktor had been genuine lovers, only for the former to be framed for witchcraft. She spoke of how he had been resurrected and placed in the bidding of a pair of evil witches, but that they were eventually reunited. Viktor couldn’t look up, to see the hopefulness that would surely be in Minako’s face… until Mari continued. Things were quiet after Yuuri was freed… until the incident. The very incident that brought them to Hadencraft, in a last ditch attempt to find Yuuri, only to find themselves hunted once more.

Minako was silent after Mari finished for what felt like ages. It wasn’t until he heard a staggering breath that he looked up to see; she was clutching her mouth, holding back tears. But she did not break into sobs or cries; she leaned against the table before her, tears silently falling.

Mari did not move to comfort her. Nor did Viktor. He could think of nothing to say or do—of the knowledge that someone she held dear was alive, only to be lost again. And the insurmountable guilt he felt at the moment? It was another anchor keeping him in place.

Breaking the mournful silence was the long-haired woman, she’d introduced herself as Sara.

“We’re sorry to hear about all of this,” She said, finally. “But you must believe us when we say we’re your allies here.”

“How?” Mari asked—but the fear from before was gone from her. Suspicion, yes, but obviously the two of them were willing to listen.

“We can help you find your brother.” Phichit spoke, standing up. He took his chair, dragging it closer to Mari and Viktor before sitting once more.

“ _How?_ ” Mari echoed, this time more urgent.

“Let me explain; we’re sympathizers. I bet your wondering why the knights out there were so eager to kill the prince, right? Not many people know what happened that day… except for you two, it seems. We only know that the prince went missing and the king was dead. Plenty of nobility were quick to jump to conclusions—and happy with the most popular one proposed. But there were nobles loyal to the crown who believed the prince was alive—nobles like my lord.”

“It may have been dumb faith at first,” Minako spoke, now. Her face was still in her hand, off to the side with tear-stained cheeks. “But the longer they went without finding a body, the more credible it seemed. The only other option is war. And it’s appetizing, believe me—there’s money to be made in love and war. But not all want to see it, least of all petty lords with hardly a deed to their name.”

“I think I… follow.” Mari said. Her eyes were alert—pondering, but there was something deeper there, something Viktor himself had almost forgotten.

“Hope. Please, we can’t lose hope.” Minako looked up now, rubbing at her reddened eyes. “God has brought us here— _alive_ —for a reason. There’s still hope.”

“Hope.” Viktor echoed her words—he’d been silent up until now, finding himself content to just think. But the realization came to him—he knew in his heart he would gladly give up his life it meant seeing Yuuri safe and sound, that he would never stop searching even if he had to roam the ends of the earth, but as Minako’s words ran over his mind again, he _realized_ … for a little while there, had he given up hope? Moving without thought up until his moment, his mind was just shielding himself from the grim betrayal; it was all finally getting to him. He’d lost hope.

Well that won’t do.

That won’t do at all.

“Look at me, depressed, acting like we’ve already lost.” Viktor ran his hands threw his hair, a laugh—not one devoid of emotion, but full of disbelief. “Don’t tell Yuuri I dared to lose hope, even for a second. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

No, Viktor thought with bitter humor as he felt a comforting touch on his shoulder from Mari. Yuuri would surely have his head if he found out.

\- - -

“The church isn’t big.” Phichit should be walking with a pep in his step. “So you’ll have to be sharing a room. It’s only temporary, at least until I can contact my lord again.”

“I think we can handle a small room,” Mari said, no small amount of sass. She seemed to be in much better spirits than before, but that only helped eat at Phichit’s guilty mind. Once he saw them to their rooms, he sighed, close to pacing the church as he wracked his mind.

He should he happy to leave this place, finally—he found the prince. Alive.

‘What if he’s not really the prince,’ His mind tried once more. True, when he’s first been eavesdropping in the town center, he had the same doubts the knights did—that the woman before them really was the prince’s true assassin and this was but another ploy for the throne. Illusionry, while a difficult magic to use, was not impossible to master. Faking something as intricate as a person’s appearance, let alone something menial like a soul-mark, would be child’s play for a master. Even after Minako vouched for Mari’s name, he still hung onto his doubts. It would be so easy to hand the prince over and be done with it, and he’d been well ready to, until Mari began to tell their sob story.

Finally, he let out a sigh, his pacing bringing him to the answer. He knocked on Minako’s door, waiting patiently for her to answer.

“Phichit?” She asked. He felt bad bothering her—she was clearly exhausted in the few short hours that transpired since the reunion. “What brings you here so late?”

“I need to talk to you… about the prince.”

She nodded, stepping aside and letting him in. Normally, if Phichit wanted a concrete answer, he would not take someone’s word of mouth. It was too easy to lie—and even if a person thought their words were the truth, it was too easy to be lied _to_. So he picked his questions out carefully as he sat down.

“How well do you know Mari?” He asked, wasting no time. Minako raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you were curious about the prince.” She said.

“I am—I’m leading up to it.” He explained. Minako sighed, smiling, and Phichit could see visibly that she was forgetting her fatigue. This was one of the reasons why he even bothered to come to Minako—she wore her emotions on her sleeve.

When Phichit had first met her, he was still a vagrant in Atleaus, searching for any morsel of gossip or information relating to the prince. But everyone was beginning to hear of the priest who advocated for the prince’s safe return—for the mere fact that he might even be alive. What did she know, he wondered, that no one else knew? What reason did she have to doubt the castle when they reported upon the prince’s supposed untimely demise? True, not everyone was dumb enough to believe the news—especially with a notably missing body and a notably missing assassin.

He went to her with questions and ended up finding… more questions.

She knew absolutely nothing. Well, almost nothing.

She revealed to him a deep secret, that she knew the identity of the witch purported to have killed the prince. Her reason for believing the prince was alive? Why, her friend would never do such a terrible thing! At first he was going to dismiss her—a woman driven on pure belief that she knew a person’s character fully. So what, the person she’d thought of as kind-hearted was actually a ruthless assassin? It was becoming a common story.

He was going to dismiss her, until he looked into the prince’s past, and saw her name pop up. Turns out, this wasn’t the first time she’d taken to speaking up based on opinion alone. From there, he followed breadcrumbs of information, about what really happened, and it all began with one person—a witch named Yuuri. She firmly believed that he was innocent of all charges against him—of attempting to seduce and assassinate the prince. Another useless attempt to protect character? There’s no such thing as coincidences, not when some of the people behind it were still alive.

All it took was a handful of judges and one torturer to confirm Minako’s story. It wasn’t the story of a witch bent on seeing the prince dead, but a tragedy ending in only pain and suffering. Needless to say, he was moved almost to tears. Phichit trusted few people in his line of work, but Minako and her unabashed hope became one of them.

But still, out of fear for the prince, he could only hope that Minako had been wrong about Mari. That she was secret the ruthless assassin so many had pegged her for, and that the prince was actually dead.

“I’ve never seen her give up.” Minako answered. “Not even when we were told about Yuuri. And to see her now, with the crown prince of all people, hell-bent on searching for him? I don’t doubt for a moment that her spirit will unite everyone again. She’s such kid, that girl.”

Yup, that’s what he thought she’d say. His suspicions were all but confirmed when Mari spoke of what happened to them barely a few hours prior. Almost word for word, it was the story he’d gathered.

Damn it all to hell.

“That’s all I needed to know.” Phichit said, smiling.

“Really? You woke me up for this?” Minako said, though her tone and actions belied her intent as she walked over to ruffle his hair.

“Get some sleep, Phichit. I’m sure we all have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Mm-hmm.” Phichit said, standing, his eyes downcast as he left the room.

He walked through the church, slowly as if procrastinating what he had no other choice against. In the end, all he could do was convince the empress not to kill him.

Once safely in his room, Phichit gathered his sheet from his bed. He shook it out—it was a normal sheet, nothing special about it. Unless you happened to dabble in illusionry, then it was a normal sheet that could keep his conversations private, albeit he looked ridiculous whilst doing so. He wore it over his head, like a child pretending to be a ghost, and knelt on the floor, reaching around under the bed for his mirror. In the muffled light, his guilty expression looked up as he placed a finger to the mirror’s surface.

Like water, the surface rippled. It was unsteady for a moment, and his reflection distorted, until on the other side was a familiar but foreign face.

“You don’t usually report in until something extraordinary has caught your attention.” Empress Mila said, regarding Phichit curiously. “Should I be excited?”

“Yes, your highness.”


	18. Be Still My Heart, My Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eventually, fate will deign to cross their paths once more. Our adventure continues!

He can only move at night, now.

As time went on, his sense of self strengthened—his surroundings felt less like obstacles before him and more like terrain he needed to navigate. He… calmed down. Significantly than when he’d first ‘lost his head’. He could think clearly of his current thoughts, but his memories were still a muddled mess. He knew how to act on instinct but all save for his name and circumstances felt… lost. Like he was missing something. He knew what was missing of course—and once he found that witch and retrieved his head, he’d be whole again.

But for now, he had to wait out the morning. He drew too much attention in the daylight, a headless horseman barreling down the paths. It didn’t take him long to realize he was becoming somewhat of a local monster. When he’d nearly met an arrow in the shoulder after his run in at the forest, he decided it was best to play it carefully. His horse needed rest as well; unfortunately it didn’t have the superhuman stamina that he found himself with.

The only reason he could bare to sit still for more than a few hours like this was because he could sense he was gaining ground. Getting closer, as if his target was not moving. Was he so conceited to think Yuuri was going to give up? It didn’t matter what the other party thought, there was no room for doubt in his head.

Well, figuratively speaking.

When dusk came, he was getting antsy—the sky was darkening but still bright; he wanted the complete cover of night, but he wanted to be moving as soon as possible. His main concern clouded his judgement at times; deep down he knew the horrors of what people would do in fear of the unknown. They would rally against him, and hunt him down—they’d get in the way of what he was trying to do. He didn’t know how he knew this, but he didn’t question this judgement. That was the only thing keeping his patience in check.

Night fell eventually, and Yuuri moved from hiding. He’d taken up refuge within the forest—not so deep that he couldn’t watch his horse graze but deep enough that discerning eyes wouldn’t be able to spot him. Being far away from the occasional traffic of the road gave his horse time to rest and graze; it had grown accustomed to his nocturnal habits by now. With the moon as his only source of light, he climbed atop his horse and set out. He rode alongside the roads for as long as possible, terrain forgiving. The plains were flat and visible for miles on end, but the darkness of the country side hid his unnatural form well enough. Very few people traveled at night, and with the current unrest the only things he had to avoid were the occasional soldier patrols. But his eyes were keen and they kept to the main road; avoiding their lanterns and staying near the forest’s edge kept him out of sight in the dark nights.

He was getting closer. There was an anxious tremor in him that spoke for it—and he was terribly restless. Like he needed to be physical be moving—his horse’s careful gallop on uneven terrain was frustrating slow, but he knew he couldn’t do any better on foot.

Then suddenly, as if passing through a barrier, he felt it. It shocked him so badly that he nearly fell off his horse; there was a flashing behind his eyelids, of an unfamiliar place. The rustle of paper, an unrecognizable face, and hurried footsteps in the near dark. He was almost there.

When he opened his eyes again, he looked around, scanning the horizon more carefully for lights or signs of civilization. As the premonitory feeling grew, he expected to catch sight of a village or town; it would be the perfect hiding place for someone on the run. Instead he saw the smoke of a cabin. He made a beeline towards it.

\- - -

Josef was a scientist—everything he did was in the pursuit of science. Yes, occasionally strange things occurred in his field, things some might call unethical or inhumane. But when medicine advanced and lifespans increased, people like him were paid handsomely and thanked by the world over. And his recent pursuits had him finding something… truly significant.

Magic was severely outlawed in Atleaus—unlike many of their neighbors who had more open laws regarding the act. Magic was restricted and any use but for royal purposes was denied and kept on the down-low. However, if you were smart and/or rich, you could bend. The how and why of this fact was unimportant—the important was that he fell under the smart category. Normally, practicing or even studying magic could get one beheaded or burnt at the stake. But a scientist could be given a writ to study it, so long as their research was heavily monitored and documented.

Right now, as Josef inspected a decapitated head, he knew this was not something that fell under his writ’s exceptions. But ah, what he would do for science.

And the best part? He stumbled upon this discovery by chance. Josef was by no means a thief, but he was natural scientist—curious and observant. A suspicious man keeping to the shadows, clutching a bag to his chest, and moving with a twitchy, paranoid aura would draw anyone’s attention. He’d draw everyone’s attention. So when Josef followed him and found an abandoned sack hidden within an alleyway, he opened it. What he found changed everything he knew about the medical applications of magic.

Now here he sat, in a more secluded location where he could plot his next move. While the nobility of the nation were content with their struggle for power, he could not access his main lab in Atleaus. This cabin would have to do. For now, observation and documentation were his primary concerns—he’d noted the strange black smoke emanating from the wound around the neck, sealing… everything in. At first, he didn’t know what to make of the strange spell, until the eyes opened. They were unfocused, but it was chilling nonetheless. Ever since he’d gotten his hands on this head a few days ago, the eyes would open periodically, before closing and resembling that of a severed cadaver once more.

Josef could only hope the fighting would die down soon. He was eager to return to his lab and study the effects of the spell in greater detail. Was it someone’s primitive attempt at necromancy? Were memories and sentiency still intact? Simply waiting around was growing irksome.

Night was falling now, and Josef was going to attempt to get some sleep; it was difficult as of late, but he needed to perform optimally. Just as he was placing the head back into the bag he’d found it in, brown eyes shot open, and he jumped, before leaping for his ink pen and notebook. Were there any differences this time? He was moving closer now, noting a brief moment of clarity entering the eyes, before a knocking came from the front door. Well, to describe the sudden banging and repeated sound of splintering wood as “knocking” was a tad inaccurate.

\- - -

Within the forest clear, a headless man approached a cozy cabin. Yuuri stepped up to the door, but found it locked to his dismay. His hands were shaking and his thoughts were muddled, driven only by instinct. He decided to knock. With his foot, sending it through the door. He repeated it a second time, then a third, until the door was so broken that it could be ripped from its hinges.

He could pinpoint the location within the house, and his gaze snapped to that direction when an unfamiliar man came into view. He was in the way.

“God above…” The man looked on at Yuuri, fear clear in his eyes as he held up a wooden board. Yuuri needed to get to the room behind him, but this obstinate man would not move. As he approached, he reached to his hip, pulling forth a fire poker which he’d been using as a makeshift sword. Like a sleeve, a black aura covered the metal, and he raised it, poised to swipe. With a yelp, the man ran back into the room, door slamming behind him. Clenching his fist, Yuuri followed, kicking the door. It swung open easily, and once again he caught sight of the man, but there was something in his hands.

“Please, just take it!”

Desperate words were drowned out by the sight of something painfully familiar yet wholly unrecognizable—his own face. Shaky, outstretched hands held forth his head, almost akin to a peace offering. Dropping his fire poker, Yuuri stepped forward, taking what was his.

It was like someone snapped their fingers, clarity coming to his mind once his head was in his hands. The faraway, journey-like feeling was leaving him in waves, as slowly he lifted his head to rest upon his shoulders. Black magic sealing both ends met as one and his eyes snapped open, view the world not as a strange cloud, but through clear brown eyes.

He gasped.

Memories came flooding back to him—a jumbled mess of events in no order, of dying, of awakening, of loving and losing. Blue eyes and shockingly white hair, a horrified expression.

“Are you okay?” A voice—no, the man who’d given him his head—was speaking to him, but he was being drowned out by a searing pain lancing through his head. An image came to his mind then, of his arm scarred by fire. He lifted his left arm and pushed his sleeve up to reveal an intricate red mark, with a half-heart in the symbol. He sighed in relief.

“That’s your mark…” The unfamiliar man said. “Are you going to attack me? Can you understand me?”

“No… yes.” Yuuri said, his throat hoarse and voice almost unfamiliar to his ears. “I…” That’s right… he did raise his weapon against the man, with the obvious intention to kill. But why was his head in this man’s possession to begin with? It should be Yakov here.

He was about to question the man, when a sudden feeling overtook him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and a strange premonitory feeling washed over him. He took a step to the left.

An arrow flew past his head and he gasped, barely missing the wind that blew past his bangs. But there was a wet sound, a gurgling gasp of pain and Yuuri looked forward to see the man with an arrow embedded in his neck. He clutched at it weakly, falling to his knees, and Yuuri stepped back in shock and confusion before looking for the source of the arrow.

“You were supposed to kill him.” Came Yakov’s voice from the front door of the cabin. His bow was still raised, and every nerve in Yuuri went alert as he prepared to dodge, when something grabbed his wrist.

He looked down, to the bloody floor, only to gasp; the man’s blood flowed unnaturally forming around something invisible lying carved into the flooring. It was a rune of some kind, and from a deep red glow a magical chain had taken hold of his wrist. Just as suddenly as the first appeared, another formed from the depths of the rune carving, grabbing his other wrist and pulling itself taut, forcing him to fall to his knees within the confines of the magical rune. It was palpable in the air, and he was unsure how he didn’t notice it immediately—a stench, that of prominent magic flowing through the air. It was everywhere, appearing almost as soon as the arrow struck the man.

Yuuri looked up, watching as Yakov stood within the doorway. He raised his bow and began to notch back an arrow. This time, something was wrong with it. An inky black substance began to cover the arrow, becoming completely ingrained with it, and suddenly Yuuri understood the properties of that arrow, and what would happen to him if it came in contact with him.

“I’m done trying to take back your magic.” Yakov said, a tone of finality ringing in his voice. “I need to kill you and be done with it. This nonsense of yours? It isn’t worth it.”

The arrow was let loose, and suddenly, time began to slow for Yuuri. He had come so close now, only to have it taken away. Again and again, there was always someone or something taking away his glimmers of hope and happiness.

He couldn’t die here. He refused to.

The magic in the air, palpable from the runes forming the chains pulsed in the fraction of a second it took Yuuri bend it to his will. He forced it to listen to him, to coalesce. He could not move nor could he escape his chains, but he needed to do something. Mere milliseconds before the arrow reached him, a tight, pitch-black bubbled of pure magic erupted around him. He could hear the arrow plink against his barrier uselessly, before silence.

There was another noise, then another—more arrows being fired in succession. But this barrier of pure black magic held, keeping him inside, and danger outside.

Yuuri let his head drop, concentrating on reinforcing his will. He might be here a little while, but this place would not be his grave. Behind his eyelids, a memory from his time as a headless wraith flashed before him—of Viktor’s shocked face as he looked on apathetically, threatening his lover as if he were a stranger.

Yuuri would never forgive himself if he died before apologizing to Viktor.

\- - -

“Damn you!” Yakov shouted, throwing his bow against the ground as he unsheathed his sword. Letting magic coat the mage sword, he began to try and attack the barrier, finding his weapon bouncing back as if it were made of rubber. He let out another outraged yell, slamming his sword down once more in a vain attempt, coming back with the same result.

His plan had been working so well. Everything had lined up so beautifully.

His trap had worked—someone had fallen for his bait. He played the role of a shifty traveler with something to hide, making sure to attract stares and glances with a feigned paranoia, clutching a bag tightly, and keeping to the shadows. Many noticed, and most wanted to know what he was hiding. Even if at least one person followed his trail, he would succeed.

There he left the head, and although there were many routes fate could take, he could work with most of them. The worst case scenario would be that someone alerted the authorities to location of a decapitated head, in which case Yakov would have to try again. But to his astonishment, the best case scenario played out, and the poor sucker had even taken the steps to isolate himself. It was a simple thing to set up a binding ring outside the cabin, with its activation strengthened by a sacrifice. Though he’d expected the boy to kill his guinea pig in a blind rage, he was satisfied with activating the trap himself nonetheless.

He could be rid of this mess finally. He could wash his hands of this whole fiasco. To hell with the prince and empire, he would find refuge somewhere else, on another continent, far away from any of these dealings. He could start over once more.

“Damn you to hell!”

His sword broke in splintering motion as he released his hold on it, hurling it towards the black barrier to no avail.

What now?

Should he wait? No… no, he still had the advantage here. A sacrifice could keep the binding spell going for days if need be… he should cut his losses here and now and flee the country. He no longer had the head with him, therefore pursuit would be slim.

“Suffer in hell, then.” Yakov said to himself, backing away slowly at the sight of the accursed barrier. He turned, fleeing from the cabin, and not looking back.

\- - -

“I’ve located the prince.” Phichit said, kneeling before his mirror, sheet covering his form. “It appears Yakov failed his mission.”

Empress Mila looked nonplussed.

“I expected as such.” She said, sighing through her words. “How can you be certain it’s him?”

“All my evidence is circumstantial,” Phichit admitted. “But your highness, I personally believe that without a doubt I’ve found the prince. All evidence and reports from my sources seem to be pointing towards this fact. I’ve done enough research to be certain.”

“I see.” The empress closed her eyes, nodding. This was the difference of regard from peer to peer—Phichit’s word upon his gut feeling went a lot farther than Yakov and his claims of certainty, but it came not down to presentation, but due to the fact that Phichit had long earned the empress’s trust. He’d earned her respect, as well. Which was why he even had the audacity to attempt this in the first place.

“I take it you’ve dispatched of him already?” The empress asked, and to this Phichit looked away.

“No, I have not.” Phichit admitted.

“Then why have you contacted me? It would be best to deal with this threat at once.” The empress said. “The last thing we need is the country re-strengthening itself.”

“That’s just it your highness—” Phichit looked back to her, taking in a breath and building courage as he spoke. “—I have reason to believe he isn’t a threat.”

Empress Mila was silent, waiting for Phichit to explain himself, and he did.

“The nobility of this country are in such a disarray that they’d rather claim the throne for themselves then accept a real heir,” He began. “When I found the prince, he was accused of being an imposter without even a moment to plead his case. They’re anxious that prince did in fact survive—so much that they’re willing to kill him themselves.”

“So, you intervened when the prince already had his head on the chopping block?” The empress asked, eyebrow raised.

“I… I had to confirm some information that I heard.”

“I don’t like this cagey-ness, Phichit, get to it! Why don’t you think the prince is a threat?”

“Prince Viktor never wanted to succeed his father in the first place.” Phichit explained. “When he went missing in the castle, it was because he ran away with his father’s executioners! This rabbit hole goes deeper than even I thought, your highness, please let me explain everything to you”

And he did. To his surprise, the empress listened to him go on about what he’d discovered of Viktor and Yuuri’s past, of the love and intrigue, betrayal and death. Her attempt to keep a poker face lasted only briefly, as Phichit had hoped, he was trying to appeal to the softer side that she kept hidden.

“We should let him live.” Phichit said, waiting with baited breath for the empress’ reply.

“…I am quite impressed at the amount of research you’ve put in,” Mila began. “If what you’re saying is true, then it sounds like the prince is a victim of poor happenstance.”

“So you’ll let him live?”

“While I trust your judgement, Phichit, I will need judge him for myself.”

“Does that mean…”

“Yes. Bring him to the capital.”

Phichit let out a sigh of relief, looking down within his mirror with a relieved smile.

“Thank you, your highness—you won’t regret this.”

“We’ll see.” She said, feigning apathy. “In the meantime, make preparations to escort the prince to the capital. I will look into this.”

She reached forward in the image, pressing a finger to the mirror. The view wavered until suddenly, Phichit was looking down at himself. He closed his eyes, feeling some of his guilt ebb away.

“You always were a softie.” He said with a light smile.

\- - -

It was her first real meal in a very long time. The familiar smell reminded Mari of home, of her parents, and the methods they’d learned from Minako herself. Yet as she cut into her eggs and bit into bacon, it felt dry and tasteless on her tongue. It was so difficult to hunker down and relax—to be _still_ —when her brother was out there in danger.

“I can see how anxious you two are.” Minako joined her and Viktor at the table, a warm and empathetic smile on her face. “But you must be patient. When Phichit returns, you’ll be another step closer to finding Yuuri. This is but a minor step in the grand plan, and it won’t hurt to wait just a little longer. The hard part is over.”

Mari tried to smile back; she wished she had Minako’s optimism. Across from her, Viktor sat, picking with his food uncharacteristically. Despite being of high noble birth, even when he complained about his food, she’d always seen him finish his plate. He was equally as worried about sitting still.

Phichit left that morning on horseback, saying that he was seeking his lord’s aide in order to transport them to a neighboring enemy territory. But who knew how long that would take.

Just getting through that day seemed to take forever. Mari was not unaccustomed to helping around a church, but each chore seemed to end too quickly, and the sun seemed reluctant to lower itself. When at last dusk came and the realization that she had to spend potentially several more days like this, she thought her head was going to split. She wished she could have Viktor’s zoned out demeanor right now; what she would give to be lost in thought and while away the hours in contemplation.

Ever slowly, time marched on. On the dusk of the third day, Phichit returned, a smile on his face, and unfamiliar soldiers in tow.

“I have permission from lord to finally bring you in,” Phichit said to them as he entered the church. “We’ll finally be able to help you two in earnest!”

“Phichit, we can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.” Minako said, reaching up to pinch his cheek in a maternal way. He gave her wry smile, nodding, before looking to Viktor and Mari.

“It’s the least I can do for getting a roof over my head.” He said, before adding: “Plus, I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep at night knowing I couldn’t help you two in any way I could.”

“Thank you.” Viktor spoke, his voice surprising Mari. His dreamy expression was gone, replaced by a fire in his eyes. “From the bottom of my heart, thank you so much.”

Phichit looked taken aback, speechless at Viktor’s fervor. He nodded once, looking down, before beckoning the two of them forward.

-

They were given riding cloaks with deep hoods to hide their faces while they rode. When they came to the town’s exit, where knights stood guard ready and waiting to inspect all who came through, Phichit showed them bundled documents. The knights began to speak of a toll, holding out theirs hands with sneers, and to Mari’s surprise Phichit pulled out multiple coins and put it into their hands with no resistance. And just like that, they were allowed to move on.

Their horses went at a comfortable trot—not full speed due to there being so many of them, but just fast enough that Mari was growing too restless. It had taken Phichit three days to get back here, so at the very most, the ride would be a day and a half. They’d left immediately, and if it were up to Mari, she’d ride without any breaks.

As she expected, even when night fell, they kept to their horses. Phichit had warned them to speak if they were going to fall asleep, but Mari was bursting with adrenaline and energy. Their group took the roads avoiding towns, keeping to the countryside. They were heading north, and Mari realized it was quite close to the Atleaun border. A large river cut through plains and mountains, making enemy descent difficult and easy to spot, but still viable.

She hadn’t bothered to read up over the current political climate and what nobility owned land where, but it was fairly inconvenient for Phichit’s lord to hold land so close to enemy territory and so far from the capital. Still, she knew of several large cities out this way; the river dividing their lands made for fertile grounds.

The sun was rising by the time a true cityscape came into view.

“Is that our destination?” Viktor asked as they approached, stifling a yawn. Mari was growing sluggish herself, but Phichit was alert as he nodded.

“Yup, that’s Shire alright. Our lord is stationed there.” Phichit said, gaze forward. “It’s not much longer now.”

Mari hummed her agreement. True enough, within the hour they were coming upon the city gates. Here there were knights too, though their livery was quite different. Offhandedly, Mari wondered what her fate would be had Viktor not approached her. Would she be stationed with a lord who’d scurried to take land and turn their personal guards into soldiered knights? Their whole world would be different, no doubt, but nothing would come from pondering it.

As expected, the knights stopped Phichit, but when he removed his hood and showed them a slip of paper, they let him through without another word. So he was that trusted around these parts?

“How much further now?” Viktor asked. Phichit didn’t answer at first, but when Mari prodded him for a response, he jumped back into focus.

“Hm? Oh, sorry—we need to stable our horses and make the rest of the journey on foot.”

“How come?” Mari asked. Phichit hesitated before answering.

“It’s much more discrete. Though milord sympathizes, not everyone sees things from his view. Spies lurk around every corner.”

Not far within the city walls there was a stable, where their horses were gladly taken.

“What are you thinking?” Mari asked Viktor as she dismounted her horse. “I’m not sure I can trust all this. Something seems off.”

“We’ve come too far to turn back.” Viktor said, hopping down with much less grace. “Yuuri’s waiting for us, and I’ve got no better ideas.”

At the end of the stall corridor, Mari could see Phichit speaking with a stablehand. The woman looked quite concerned. She could not hear their conversation, but Phichit appeared to be placating her. Reluctantly, she stood from her stool and left the area.

“What was all that about?” Mari asked, arms crossed as one of the knights who Phichit brought along took the stablehand’s place at the door.

“I just needed a bit of privacy.” Phichit said. When Mari gave Viktor a look, the former tried to smile and lighten the mood.

“For?” Mari asked. She took a cursory glance.

Behind her was a solid wooden wall, and to her left and right were horse stalls. Phichit stood before them, with a knight at the only exit in this stable. Something was wrong. She didn’t like being trapped like this.

“What would you do,” Phichit crossed his arms, his smile slowly dropping. “If I told you that the lord of these lands was a menace who enforced an almost sadistic iron will on the citizens living within his territory?”

Mari blinked in shocked, mouth dropping open to question him before she was cut off.

“And if I told you that the only reason he supported the kings return was so that he could receive a steady income of taxes from the entire nation rather than a meager few northerners. Let’s say I told you he was just a few steps away from hiring a fake prince of his own in an attempt to claim the crown with a figurehead.”

“Are you serious?” Mari’s voice came as a quiet disbelief. To her silence, Viktor was like thunder.

“Why are you telling us something like this now?!” Viktor asked, his temper showing through. Phichit raised his hands in defense.

“These are all hypotheticals.” He said in an unconvincing tone. “But let’s keep going! Let’s say, for instance, that I’m not even allied with him in the first place.”

Viktor went still. Mari clenched her fist.

“What would do if, for instance, I was a spy for the neighboring empire trying to overthrow Atleaus?”

Mari reached for her sword at her hip.


End file.
